Dapper as ever in his tweed sports jacket, John Guare glides down the new 42nd Street with a college boy's ebullience. His white shock of hair somehow accentuates his youthful gait as he dashes boldly into the crowded intersection. Greeting me by clasping hold of my arm, he weaves the two of us in and out of traffic while reeling off a deliriously fictitious biography that fixes his place of birth high in the... More >>>