But I still had not found the spirit of Vonnegut, or rather, Vonnegut's spirit.
I had tried once before, with the artist Van Stein, five years ago this month when we did a road trip from The Exorcist steps in Georgetown (DC) to Salem, Massachusetts, and, along way, stopped first in Baltimore to pay homage to Edgar Allan Poe at the bar where he drank his last drink, The Horse You Came in on Saloon, and where he is buried, and second to feel Vonnegut's vibe at his old brownstone in the Turtle Bay neighborhood of Manhattan and also his favorite park bench and restaurant nearby.
But no Vonnegut. No spirit of Vonnegut.
So after dining at Bluebeard and draining a beer at The Athenaeum, I returned to the Red Key Tavern...
But still no Vonnegut.
So I asked my driver to swing by his childhood home. I had a feeling that's where I'd find him, and digital photography can only perform this feat in the darkness of nighttime.
Vonnegut had the best answer I ever heard about why you can't go home:
But home, his old house on North Illinois Street, is where I found Kurt....
...hanging out with his brother and sister.