On October 29, 2015 Winona Ryder turned 44. The occasion proved significant later on, judging by my journals; I made a note of it on that date while having a whiskey sour alone in the bar of the Westin Harbour Castle in Toronto. It was my first night in Toronto, my first time in Canada, and my first time in a big hotel. It was also my first paid junket as a writer, having just been flown in from Barcelona to participate in the International Festival of Authors. I’d probably just showered off th...