I was seventeen when I got this letter from the very funny and eccentric bon vivant Quentin Crisp. I believe what happened was that I saw an appearance of his on Letterman, where he mentioned that his phone number was published in the NYC directory. On a lark, I called New York information, got the number and dialed, and sure enough he did answer the phone. Not really having much to talk about at that moment, I told him I was a fan and asked him if I could write him a letter, so he gave me his address and I did just that. I was so excited that he wrote me back! But I never did come up with much more to talk about so the correspondence ended there. Bless his heart. — Edith Frost

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