The conference 

I had gone to a writer's conference
The room was full of authors only interested
in reading and pushing their book
I had brought a book called Hunger, written
by Knut Hamsun, the pages were loose and
kept falling off, but there was a picture 
of him a stern man-looking intellectual  
The leader of the meeting, a man who was 
proud he had not gone to college and said
he knew more than anybody else
did want to read Hamsun's book, because 
Knut had gone to university in Oslo
Since the room was full of writers pushing
their work and didn't want to be influenced 
by other voices, I left
In the parking lot, all the cars were white, my
car was a Russian jeep called Lada, but
I couldn't find it, so took my leave of the scene