Mergers & Acquisitions: A NovelA Novel

He supposed he ought to consider himself fortunate that he had no ambition for literary fame. If there was anything sadder than an aspiring filmmaker, it was an aspiring writer. He was happy that he had left both roads untravelled, though it had been inertia more than choice that had kept him from pursuing either with serious purpose. Glancing out of the window, he watched First Avenue breeze by in the morning sun, contemplating the monotonous routine his life had become, with its intermittent flurries of evening desperations that did so little to make him any less unhappy. New York had given him one thing, if anything at all. Over the years, he had seen enough thinly veiled memoirs, enough affaires and skim-milk controversies, to appreciate that kind of success for the delicious irony that it was, without dint of envy or misguided resentment that his own genius had been overlooked or neglected. Inevitable comparisons to the Jay McInerney's of the world would strike jealousy in the hearts of Emily and others who had Come to New York To Be Writers. But, like Balk, he was immune--or at least numb--to that kind of craving. Which wasn't to say there hadn't been a time when it tugged at the rug of his own life, however well-constructed it may have been. As the cab pulled up to the corner, he fumbled for change amid the crumpled remains of the evening's escapade. And wondered, for a brief moment, whether it was too late to give this whole novel thing a try, after all.