This was supposed to be worthwhile;
supposed to be something that
summed up and crowned his works,
glorified everything he’d done so far.
He
wanted to be proud of his work;
wanted
to be approached by readers,wanted to see their heads still spinning,
their hands eager to shake his hand.
He wanted to hear them sing his praise.
No
one even seemed to notice. No one
approached
him for an autograph orformed a line for a photo op. No one
betrayed the slightest interest. No one.
He
gave up caring. He put down his pen.