Whenever people recognize me in real life (which isn’t terribly often – the one who is almost always spotted is Rand, and from there they are able to conclude that the loyal hobbit by his side is me), they often stare blankly before asking, “Why are you here?”
I find this charming. It’s fun to be interrogated at farmer’s markets with the same pointed questions you’d get if they opened their pantry and found out you were living in it.
You are a travel writer. You go to fancy places. And right now you are not in a fancy place.
“Listen, dear one” I say, as I stand in a dirt lot surrounded by animatronic dinosaurs. “You do not understand how miraculous this place is because you have seen it too many times. But I assure you, it is.”
If you spend too much time somewhere, it grows stale. I