At the Miami Book Fair the other week I took my plate of black beans and rice and sat at a table with another male author. We talked about our respective books the way other people exchange information about jobs or children. At one point in the conversation, he mentioned that his wife had grown up on Amelia Island. I asked if he knew the one person I know who had grown up there. “She’s my sister-in-law,” he said.
He also mentioned that he lived in St. Petersburg. I told him of my one friend there and asked if perhaps he knew him. “We play tennis together every Sunday morning,” he said.
