Being on the wrong side of town, at the wrong end of the street, outside the boarded up windows of an old bookstore - none of this ever stopped me from pursuing this sudden gift of vision. It never felt wrong to me. Breaking and entering was my means to justify the end, getting hold of the rare first edition of "Dominion", a book I wrote in the fifties and whose entire printing I believed had been destroyed. This until the ghost of my dead kid brother appeared in a dream and let me to the bookstore in it. Waking up, of course I headed directly to that same store. Honest to God, a store or part of town I'd never been to before in my life. I called my publisher, who was surprised to hear from me after all these years, and met up with her at the local chapter meeting at the Writer's Club. Introducing me to a circle of people, she declared "We have another member now." This seemingly select group brought me into a back room, where a radio was tuned into some program broadcasting old reports from World War 2. "This is not a recording," she said. "This is a live transmission."
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