Ray Bradbury takes the bus to an untold land.
oh, man. I have so many feelings about Ray Bradbury, all of them positive but tinted with a little fear and melancholy, brown and gold and red, dusted with Martian sand and smelling faintly of must and my Uncle Lloyd's pipe smoke (I sometimes borrowed his paperbacks.)
Ray Bradbury walked or took the bus everywhere he went, which was sometimes to the Change of Hobbit down the street from where I lived, where he would sit in the window and type short stories to bring customers to their door. I got him to sign my copies of The October Country, Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes and my very favorite, Fahrenheit 451.
Now at 91, he's gone, but he's left us an amazing legacy that never failed us: as Neil Gaiman says: Ray Bradbury never lost his sense of wonder. And that is what made him so rare.
Ray Bradbury walked or took the bus everywhere he went, which was sometimes to the Change of Hobbit down the street from where I lived, where he would sit in the window and type short stories to bring customers to their door. I got him to sign my copies of The October Country, Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes and my very favorite, Fahrenheit 451.
Now at 91, he's gone, but he's left us an amazing legacy that never failed us: as Neil Gaiman says: Ray Bradbury never lost his sense of wonder. And that is what made him so rare.