King Car
by Rebecca Giggs As a fan of the Nigerian-American writer and critic Teju Cole, I found myself last month loitering around the side entrance of the Ian Potter Centre, hoping to hustle a security guard into letting me eavesdrop on an interview Cole was giving for the Melbourne Writers’ Festival. The automatic doors shuddered—switched on, but still locked. It was early. In fact, I wasn’t sure I had the right day. Inside docents and at least one festival organiser patrolled with earpieces and clipboards, too far away to notice me tapping on the glass. So I skulked around; wound…