The way this cover plays out, it looks as if the victim in my book is Martin Last, a guy who at times crawls inside the base of the Picasso sculpture to keep warm. That was me on Sunday, the same glasses I'm wearing now as I type, the three-day beard I saved for the photo, the fire escape from the photo I took Saturday. Seems like Greg always gets better with what he does and here I am, just promoting a reissued book (at least as a trade edition, the original costing $29.95, the kiss of death for any first time novel). Hell, Greg's work is so much better, I can see my nasal passages and why I have trouble breathing in the winter. The cover might change, there were many poses and shots taken. That other thing is me posing back almost twenty years ago, Greg had a gig illustrating an article about married men who were incarcerated. He's been doing his voodoo as long as I have, but back at the beginning, I was still stumbling around like Jack Lemmon in AIRPORT '77. Well, that's a bad comparison, but its late and I probably dressed in sport jackets back in the 80s. With the same sinus passages, no doubt. More people need to be aware of this guy...all I have to say. Wayne
