By Robert Anasi At the exact hour on February 12, 2012 that I was supposed to be ferrying the manuscript for The Last Bohemia to the FSG offices, I was puking into the toilet of my Greenpoint sublet. Dubious Chinese and sleep deprivation were to blame. After peeling my hands off the tile, I scrubbed my teeth, got dressed, and made my way to the subway. I felt like a human bruise. In March of 2011, the good news had come: FSG wanted me. I’d submitted the proposal in September and… waited. There was a catch though (isn’t there always?) – I had to deliver the manuscript in less than ten months. Ten months to write a book. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. As Kafka put it: "We are permitted to crack that whip, the will, over us with our own hand.” My whip hand had never been more ready. The contract came through in April and I started to write on a cross-country drive from SoCal to Brooklyn, typing on my laptop in the three hours a day my mother could handle the wheel (Neal and Jack we weren’t).