November 1st, 2019

I asked John where he would like to interview:

The library is old. Very old. So old, in fact, that nobody seems sure of when it was built. Oddly neither of us are sure how ling we’ve been here or how we got here, though we seem to have been here for a while. We’re sitting opposed each other in two well cushioned high-backed chairs that are positioned in front of a great oak fireplace. And there is a small table between us on which there is a steaming fresh pot of tea along with two empty mugs. The mahogany walls are covered by floor to vaulted ceiling bookcases that seem to stretch out to the horizon, which is, of course, impossible. The room is dimly lit, though there is enough light to comfortably read the pages of the book, Paradise Lost, that I find resting in…