Call me Jonah. My parents did, or nearly did. They called me John.

Jonah — John — if I had been a Sam, I would have been a Jonah still — not because I have been unlucky for others, but because somebody or something has compelled me to be certain places at certain times, without fail. Conveyances and motives, both conventional and bizarre, have been provided. And, according to plan, at each appointed second, at each appointed place this Jonah was there.

Listen:

When I was a younger man — two wives ago, 250,000 cigarettes ago, 3,000 quarts of booze ago.

When I was a much younger man, I began to collect material for a book to be called The Day the World Ended.

The book was to be factual.