"I don’t intend to speak to the literary man. Certainly not at the exclusion of the literary woman. I’m not sure who exactly I’m speaking to with this collection, but they’re probably not literary at all. Perhaps it’s the elderly, black man who got on the bus the last time I was visiting Pittsburgh. He must have been seventy years old, and he was missing teeth, and he was skinny, and he had splotches on his face. But when he turned around, I saw that he was actually an old friend of mine, barely over forty, who I hadn’t seen in twenty years. I’m assuming the ravaged face and body was a result of meth. He’d been a handsome basketball player when I knew him, but he’d struggled with a crack addiction, and I remember that he would tell me how he would look at himself in the mirror and try to find some inner strength by saying, ‘This isn’t for you, Bobby.’ Twenty years later, he’d clearly lost the battle. It was shocking and it was sad, and it was, yes, tragic. I wrote these stories with people like him in mind, people who’ll never read my book."
Jaw dropper of an interview. Unbelievable answer to one of our questions with Said Sayrfiezadeh, who basically wrote a short story as a response.