you know that Twilight Zone episode with the guy who loves to read, but can't actually find the time and place in which to do so? You know the one... the guy works in a bank and finally locks himself in the vault to read during his lunch break and then the bomb drops. He ends up alone and happy, with all the time in the world to read ...and then his glasses break.

If Charles and I went through that same scenario, we'd be okay purely because of the joy of endlessly regaling each other with stories. Even if I were completely crippled and without food and dying of radiation poisoning, I'd be happy to have Charles at my side.

Met Charles several years ago outside an Internet Cafe. He was writing in a notebook and I asked him if he was a writer. He said yes, I am, and we started having a conversation which has yet to end or become uninteresting. Depending on his caffeine/alcohol level, there isn't a literary or social/political topic he couldn't give you an insightful opinion on. Oh yeah, and he owns a fez.