I, myself, am an old, worn shoe: the man who walks the road with his shaman stick, captivated by the beauties around him. I am a student, a discoverer, soon to be enrolled at a certain Hillsdale College in Michigan, USA. I write for a living, and at the current rate will be dead tomorrow morning. I do not meddle with romance, for I am too much of a Romantic to be content with reality, and too much of a Realist to believe love could ever be romantic. Yet were I inclined that way I would meet with little success, for I am neither beautiful nor interesting. My only occupation is thinking, my only wage an observant smile in the face of conversation; for I shun idol speech, and am considered an idiot because of it. Yet, in all, I am a man like other men, and equally vain. If I was not, I don’t believe I would have written this.
Jonathan Dunn,
The Secret Room, July 2004