Prologue New York, 1954
I feel alive, Sutter thought.
He watched me, and smiled.
"Are you writing, Andy?".
"Yes". He was busy tapping on the keys of the typewriter. He was consumed by his novel. He wasn't focused on me.
"Don't you want to go to bed?".
"No".
I moved from the window. I turned to see Andy's face. He was nice; he was lovely. But he wasn't going to be moved on from his novel; he wasn't moving at all from his grey colored writing seat. The lamp illumed his face, and his eyes, and he was so involved, he forgot about me. Like I became invisible...in our Lower Manhattan apartment.
I felt disillusioned by Andy.
Sometimes he was cold; sometimes he was not cold; sometimes he was neutral. He knew why he was an outsider; he knew why I was an outsider.
Our families ignored us because we were different.
And, when we connected, everything connected like it was meant to be.
And, then, the novel interrupted us...And, from there on, we separated. And that was the worst thing in the World for me.
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The Artists A Beatnik novel
HumorRobert Helliger. 11 November, 2013. All Rights Reserved. Author's note: This novel was formerly called 'The Intellectuals'. But the last word was too long, so I changed it to 'Artists'. In New York, 1954, a group of artists become Beatniks...And di...
