. . . I wore my Ray-Bans and braced myself for the appearance of the autograph hounds and adoring stagedoor Johnnies. Halfway downtown, I was confident that my privacy was only too safe. As I got off at my stop, a middle-aged man in a grey suit and a sizable paunch stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey," he said, "didn't I see you on the teevee last night? Griffin show?"
Chapter 61 of Larry Duplechan's Eight Days a Week (Almost to the end!):