End of I. [antikvár]

FRIEND Too lazy right now to look at his notes for possible ideas; they're in the memobook he'd have to find first and in the insides of book jackets and covers of books he's been reading or recently read and which are in bookcases and on his night table and other places around the house. And just energetic enough to get out of the easy chair in the living room, where he's been reading a newspaper and occasionally nodding off, to go to his writing table in his bedroom and remove the cover from the typewriter and put some paper in, he tries the following line, which popped into his head whole a minute ago and seemed sufficiently intriguing for him to want to put down to see if it might lead to something he could work on the next week or two or more—for however long it takes, he's saying. Marty Newman was the name of a friend of his in the third or fourth grade at public school in New York. The line he originally thought of and which brought him here was "Donald Newman (the boy's real name) was a classmate of his in the fourth grade in elementary school, though they always called it 'public school.'" The truth is, they were