Floyd S. Irving was not the kind of person to worry. His job, such as it was, did not worry him, nor did his simple home life. He lived on his own, in a small, tidy studio apartment where he cooked his soups and made his sandwiches and went to work as a truck driver for the libraries, carting books back and forth. He loved the books and loved the truck and loved the people he worked with. He was not a rich man, but he didn't worry about that. He didn't get out of his apartment very much, and some might have said he was antisocial, but it wouldn't have bothered him if he'd heard them. He was, simply, an uncomplicated man, self-assured that he enjoyed his life.
