Ask people in Pynchon’s own neighborhood where they think he might be hiding out, and you get a variety of responses: “He lives in Mexico,” says a clerk in a bookstore a few blocks from his building.
“Out west somewhere,” says a salesperson in a gourmet-coffee store around the corner.
“He’s disappeared, and no one will ever find him, because that’s how he wants it,” says a man walking past the entrance to Pynchon’s apartment building.
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