I was back at UCLA, walking into a lecture hall at Young Hall. I was late. The class was in progress.
Except, instead of a professor, there were a bunch of pundits sitting at the table in the front of the classroom. And sitting among them, speaking as if he were their leader, was my cousin, Tod Goldberg.
As I walked down the aisle, Tod worked me into his opening remarks. He directed everyone's attention to me.
Then, after the lecture, he took me to this table just below Janss Steps. There, they sold me a literary journal with a cover story by Tod. The story was written from the viewpoint of a possibly psychotic young man who opened a Starbucks franchise in his home.
Oh. Wait.
That was the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books
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