Afterward and Afterword

This is not a trick ending, for my story has no ending at all. I do not know whether Oscar Berg will tell his boss, Phil Foglio about his use of company time to write a book about the Romanovs — or, if he does, whether Foglio will forgive Oscar — or whether he will fire Oscar.   What I do know is that Oscar will not hurl himself under a subway train.   He will not be hanged, stoned to death, branded or banished, and he will not swallow arsenic.   I do not think Phil Foglio will fire Oscar, or that Foglio will ultimately shun him because of the erotic pleasures Oscar revels in; or that Oscar’s neighbors, scandalized, will ignore him. I hope Oscar will not be fired by an employer that cannot tolerate the creativity of its employees. I do not expect an angry jury, indignant over Oscar’s misuse of company time, to declare him a sociopath or a lunatic or an unfit member of civilized society. I imagine Oscar will continue to get by, enduring a plodding existence, living each moment frame by frame.

As for me, I will continue to make my way in this life on a metaphorical bridge of thoughts and perceptions from day to day to try to connect the known with the yet unknown.  My bridge, like the Brooklyn Bridge itself, is made up of many planks: each single plank requiring the supplement of others.  Like Oscar Berg, I will traverse the passage from Brooklyn to Manhattan, day in day out, moment by moment.

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