This story of mine originally appeared in the New York Times Nov. 22, 2015

Standing in the dark outside the Reykjavik public Library in the relentless damp chill that comes with a light rain at 40 degrees, I kept trying to zip up my jacket. The charcoal sky was a shade lighter than the inky ocean a few blocks away, but it was noon, not twilight. I had a few minutes to bundle up before an outdoor walking tour on literary Iceland began. As if on cue, the zipper snapped off in my hand.

I could write here, I thought.

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