If Henry Miller were alive right now, in his writing prime, what would he be like? What would he write? Where would he live? What would be the name of his first novel? Who would be select to be his Anais? As a starving writer, what would his wife June be like? What are the equivalent of Paris and Big Sur today?

My guess is that he'd live in San Francisco, with his wife June, who would be a Mitchell Brothers stripper. He'd run off to Prague to be quiet and write, and he'd meet up with his Anais, who was married to an investment banker named Robert. And instead of Big Sur, our modern day Miller would probably be in Thailand, somewhere in the south, on a dingy hot beach without tourists, where he could get a room for $3 a night. He'd borrow some money from a rich American he'd just met drinking, and would binge on Thai whores at the local brothels for two weeks at a time. He'd use a laptop, a cheap one, and would still use floppy disks because he didn't trust hard drives. He'd write something so shocking and real and beautiful that it would be banned in America. He'd write about fucking, about stupid rich tourists, about looking hard to find something that was visceral, to indulge in, to be passionate about. He would hang out with performance artists and writers and yoga masters and retired professors. He'd drink cheap beer and good wine. He'd ride a bike instead of driving a car, except when he had to.

What do you think?