William Boyle — a burgeoning Brooklyn boss of his own, ever-growing literary criminal underworld — stops by to talk about bonne chance, elevator pitches, growing up in the early 90s, writing an interconnected thing like a Robert Altman movie, pausing for coffee, Herbert Selby. Jr., Brooklyn as a landscape of spiritual anguish, real bars and made up bars and a combination of the two, smoking, The Wrong Number, sitting in a dive bar watching Cheers, run-of-the-mill shenanigans, and skylight B&E.