Reading a humor article in the New Yorker. A reminiscence (I'll spell-check that later) of a 17-year old boy who had a torrid affair with 77-year old Ayn Rand:
Anyone who knew Ayn knew that she was not big on sniveling. But I was devastated. We'd often talked about "stopping the engine of the world." Well, now she had stopped the engine of my heart. So, yes, I sniveled a bit. Although, in keeping with my Objectivist principles, when I sniveled, I did it in my room, while keeping my face as impassive and noble as I could. Or sometimes I'd call Alan Greenspan, and he'd go, "Oh, you too, eh?"
Yeah, I know. Reading the New Yorker at the NRA Range. I'll pay dearly for this.
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