So today I was driving when I passed Kurt Vonnegut in a Lincoln Town Car. He had bushy hair and sunglasses, and when he looked over, he nodded at me while he tapped the ash of his cigarette out the window. My first reaction was not celebrity excitement, oddly, but a contentedness that this was a guy whose writing and philosophies I really dig, and a nod seemed like a blessing of some sort – in my fantasy literary world it seemed wholly apropos for Vonnegut to do that. So it was pretty jarring to suddenly remember he’s not actually living anymore; all the more sad considering I would love to know what he thought of the current happenings in the world. Shrug. I think I’ll pretend it was him anyway.

On a similar note, all weekend Jack was talking about how at school his teachers discussed it being the old man’s birthday today. He spoke in the present tense but I couldn’t seem to suss out from his nonsensicalness who he was talking about. Finally, it dawned on me and I asked if he meant Martin Luther King.

Yes, he said, Martin the King. I want to wish him a happy birthday.

So, happy birthday Martin the King, from Jack. This day seems especially prescient given the history that will be made tomorrow – something that surely wouldn’t have happened this way without you – and my kindergartner wants you to know you’re in his thoughts.

Altogether pretty cool, methinks.

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