Where Are My Hangers-On?

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).

“Is that…?”

“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!”

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