The KGB event was fun. The place is iconic—decorated in red and black and seething with mystery and dark promise—perhaps haunted by the spirits of the writers who have read there. Many previous guests have scarred the heavy wooden tables with their initials, and a blackboard shows the beers available. A poster of an infantile Lenin hangs from the liquor shelves peering at a Ukrainian flag hanging behind the scarred bar. A laughing waitress served drinks, and a heavy metal band stopped playing to allow our literary evening.
About twenty-five people attended, and I was delighted to meet four of my virtual BIO seminar members in person. After reading, I answered questions posed by my agent, Sam Hiyate of the Right’s Factory in Toronto. I can usually tell whether a crowd is with me, and this one seemed attentive and appreciative. I signed books and chatted with folks afterward.