By Paul Beckman
I ignored the doorbell because I was waiting for the Final Jeopardy question, but heavy knocks began. I opened the door, told the man standing there to come in and be quiet for five minutes and sit down. Instead, he walked into my kitchen, rummaged around in my refrigerator, and made himself a stone ground mustard and Swiss on seeded rye—one of my favorite sandwiches. After I nailed the question I looked in on him and he was eating his sandwich leaning over the sink, just as I do, so as not to spill crumbs on the linoleum floor.
“I write to see what’s on my mind.” – the author
