This week's New Yorker has a short story that was previously unpublished called "Thank You For The Light". It is a very short story about a women having trouble with smoking in public and it contains some classic FSF turns of phrase. I found it delightful and somewhat contemporary given the way smoking has been demonized in today's culture. Would he have every imagined someone today that a person could get a ticket for lighting up in Central Park?
Fitzgerald was such a prolific writer that many works of his have turned up in recent years as new to us, though they were written years ago. The great irony with this story is that he submitted it to the New Yorker back in 1936 and they rejected it.
