Sorry for no new entry today. On Thursday, I shoved a 2,200-word bolus of type into the outbox, so as to clear my desk for the weekend’s work of preparing a 3,500-word bolus of type to be delivered Tuesday latest. Honestly, I just wasn’t in the mood to spend another minute staring at a screen.
(Again, do not construe any part of this as a complaint. I’m billing more in six weeks than I did all year. I might have to pay quarterly income taxes.)
Instead of staring at a screen, I stared at “The Wheelman,” which I picked up on the recommendation of Ms. Lippman and am thoroughly enjoying, even though the author appears, from his photo, to be about 12 years old.
The precipitating event of the book is a bank robbery. I love bank robberies, at least fictional ones. There’s something about a stick-up that just makes sense — you have the money, I need money, give me your money. The FBI is always issuing press releases whenever there’s a string of bank robberies in any given neighborhood, telling the public what a terrible idea it is. If their statistics tell the truth, it is — the average amount taken in most bank heists is shockingly low. On the other hand, the risk is pretty low, too. You’ve got security cameras, sure, and the prospect of Leavenworth in your future, but tellers don’t resist the way, say, liquor-store owners do. If it weren’t for the dye packs, everybody’d be in the business.
Anyway, “The Wheelman” is worth your time. I’m also reading Nick Hornby’s “A Long Way Down,” which is light as a feather, but in a good way.