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Sunday morning I woke up early, knowing full well that this would be my last chance to say what I needed to say regarding the fact that Narcisa needs a good, honest home. After all, she WAS the reason I found myself here in the first place. Or so I thought.

When I arrived at the Javits Center I gravitated immediately to the Feral House booth. After having spent the latter part of Saturday with one of their people I was feeling at home and comfortable at this point with our kindred collective dementia. I sat with Robert for a while until I saw Eliza Wood from Two Dollar Radio. I went to her booth again, telling her once more that she would soon be hearing from me regarding Jonathan Shaw’s book. I moseyed around to everyone else’s booth reminding them of the same thing until I saw my clock and noticed that a good four hours had gone by. See part of being marooned is that you have no sense of what time it is, if it is sunny or raining, if the World Trade Center is being bombed… none of that. I had a strange feeling that I should make my way over to the booth between the Scientologists and the homoerotic romance novels to what had by now been officially renamed “L Ron Turner’s Books”.

I hauled ass to Last Gasp. I had come to say goodbye and thank Mr Turner for all of his guidance and that I hoped once we got back to our respective home bases that we could still be friends and all that. My Narcisa mission had been accomplished. People were talking about it. It was a winner for fiction in an Indie Choice awards ceremony. Won best cover. People were interested and the wheels were turning. Every Indie publisher there was aware of Narcisa, and its potential to reach people I could feel was growing rapidly.

But there was still one thing I hadn’t accomplished. I looked over at the Scientology booth which was being dismantled by all the now-haggard and sleepy-eyed ranking officers of the religion. They were disbanding. I looked quickly for a loner, someone who wouldn’t have too much propaganda to spew so I could squeeze as much free shit to take back to town with me as I could. I took a deep breath and headed over to one particular young lady who stood alone by a pile of books, her makeup done up just enough to let me know that she was terribly insecure. I entered the conversation by handing her a bookmark of Narcisa. After a brief explanation of what it was I was doing at this expo I learned from her that Narcisa and Jonathan Shaw were actually just my predetermined fate to one day have this experience, there and then, with such a Scientologist as herself. I left with a handful of books about L Ron Hubbard, final mission succesful.

I took all of my shwag, bade my farewells and booked it to the East Side for a nap. After closing my eyes for fifteen minutes I was awoken by my buzzing phone. Eli Horowitz of McSweeney’swas holding me up to that delicious fruity beverage that we had discussed the day before. As we walked deep into Chinatown, I told him about my adventures with Narcisa. He was fascinated, as are most people who are lucky enough to hear first-hand Narcisa stories. (If you want some you can refer to my Rio Adventures series here). We walked back up to 7th street after sharing a bubble tea and said goodbye for now. It had been a long weekend, and I had been sealed in strange bonds with kindred spirits from all different places. I couldn’t help but think of the insecure blonde in the sailor suit with the L Ron Hubbard paraphernalia and all the things she told me, about my attachments, the little man in mypocket that I’d forgotten all about. Destiny. I slept uneasy and turbulent, ready to go home and process it all and furthermore figure out what was next for me, Jonathan and Narcisa.

Yet after all that… I woke up with a strange discoloration under my fingernail and a headache, a strong inner compass pointing me down Sunset Blvd. And here I am. I write to you, stranded now at The Scientology Center, the air slowly leaking from my tires. Marooned. Again. Can someone tell me how long a billion lifetimes is?