Reading about the Algonquin Round Table today.
“…the enduring legacy of the group of newspaper writers, magazine editors, critics, actors and hangers-on is timeless,” the article said.
I could not help but wonder, why don’t writers have hangers-on any more? I should feel oh so much more confident if I experienced some occasional on-hanging. I could be followed by wide-eyed young protégés who jot down all my witticisms and, by remembering them poorly, improve upon them.
Though it would be ever so tedious, I could endure the occasional whisper as I walked through the lobby of a grand hotel (on my way to the bar to sip absinthe with the intellectuals and bohemians).
“Why yes, I think it may be.”
“I read her last book you know. Rubbish.”
“I did too. I can’t wait for the next!”