David Sedaris

With this in mind, I carried the book to the grocery store parking lot and tossed it into the back of a shining new pickup truck.

I then took up my post beside the store's outdoor vending machines, waiting until the truck's owner returned, pushing a cart full of groceries.

He was a wiry man with fashionable mutton-chop sideburns and a half-cast on his arm.

As he placed his bags into the back of the truck, his eyes narrowed upon the book.

I watched as he picked it up and leafed through the first few pages before raising his head to search the parking lot.

He took a cigarette from his pocket and tapped it against the roof of the truck before lighting it.

Then he slipped the book into his pocket and drove away.

David Sedaris, welcome back to Fresh Air.

Thank you so much, Sam.

Your latest collection of essays, The Land and Its People, are pieces you've been reading on tour around the country, I think, for the last four or five years.

Does performing these pieces in front of an audience help you make them better?

Sure.

Yes, the audience is my first editor, and they tell me everything I need to know.

One of the new pieces I wrote, I was talking about how frustrating it is to be in line behind someone who's buying lottery tickets.

I just hate it when you get there, and then the person in front of you is like, no, that's 19-3-3-6.

On my deathbed, I'm going to want all that time back that I spent standing behind people buying lottery tickets.

And when the audience, let's say, for instance, when they cough, they tell me that I need to cut whatever it is that I'm reading.

Or, you know, of course, when they laugh, that's fantastic.

But I don't mind a groan.

A collective groan is fine with me.