The London Underground used to be a happy place for authors. We would get into a carriage and see rows of people, studiously ignoring their neighbors – unless their neighbor was a dog – and reading a newspaper or an actual, physical book.
The London Underground used to be a happy place for authors. We would get into a carriage and see rows of people, studiously ignoring their neighbors – unless their neighbor was a dog – and reading a newspaper or an actual, physical book.