What is it about dead, famous Southern-born folk? Why won't they stay dead, or at least have the consideration to show up as shambling, decomposing zombies?
Truman Capote (September 30, 1924 – August 25, 1984) is alive, well, and gives every sign of having a wonderful time on his sojourn in this dreary, Midwestern hell:Here he is at the intersection of College and 54th, enjoying our quaint local miltaria shop. I was on my way to the Fresh Market; looks like his native guide is taking him over to Butler student/yupster hangout Moe & Johnny's, diagonally across the intersection.
(Looking up Mr. Capote's biography, I was reminded why even though I loathe most of his political and personal views, I enjoy hearing Gore Vidal speak every bit as much as I liked listening to William F. Buckley. Sayeth Mr. Vidal: "Truman Capote has tried, with some success, to get into a world that I have tried, with some success, to get out of." Woosh! Is there anyone else left who can fight in the same weight class?)