"It was a nod to history, a sentimental bid to the great John Antes, Pottstown's greatest composer. Nobody outside Pottstown had ever heard of Antes, of course, in part because he wrote trumpet sonatas that nobody played, . . ."
Am I reading a James McBride book or a Kurt Vonnegut book? I now know why I find James McBride so funny, he is Vonnegut reincarnate.
— Aug 23, 2026 05:38PM
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