(My good friend Will Kümmer, reporter-at-large, wrote this article about me. It is completely 100% true. Enjoy.)
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Tim Hortons. 2:30 PM. I planted myself in a two-person booth, facing the window, and got to thinking about how this interview would play out. There was an older couple seated next to me speaking enthusiastically about the weather. Sure is hot out. My back hurts when it rains. Mine too. Would Danny and I be able to speak with such candour? I produced my laptop from the threadbare red backpack at my feet and, after shooing a few renegade crumbs from the brown faux-wood table, rested it before me. A text document was open and waiting. In it were a handful of questions, each divided by a blank space or two. As I read through them, a red and brown shape in the distance caught my eye. Bouncing along between parked cars and pedestrians came a blurry figure, wrapped in a drab brown coat, seated upon a tiny bicycle. A full beard hung about the figure’s chin, and as he came into focus, I noticed a pair of pursed lips, and two squinted eyes just barely visible beneath a furry gray ushanka. This was the man himself. This was Danny Fast.
Danny Fast makes art. But Danny Fast is not an artist.
(Click “Read More” to read the entire article.)
