FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. I have two days in which to earn nearly thirty shillings—that is with no dinners, and get a situation. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. "Put your arms about me. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet.
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