Goodbye Superstar. And so he requests that the story end now, he is done reading, without so much an acknowledgement that it was a good book, or that he liked it at all. I guess it’s one of those stories you don’t recommend to others or read for pleasure on lonely winter nights. It’s the kind that sits on a dusty shelf in a closet you never open, waiting to be donated to charity ten years later when you’re married with kids and your wife wants to clean out the house. The least I could do was make it a beautiful story. Even if no one remembers that, I will.