In his own way, this white-haired man standing a bit awkwardly at the podium and holding a stark wrinkled typed paragraph impersonates and then introduces her. Miranda walks out and the audience claps, and we clap too, then laugh because she can’t hear us. We, a crowd of a hundred fifty or so, are sitting in the “overflow” room, which is one wall separated from the newly minted Billy Wilder theater, which seats 295, which is where she’s standing, which is sold out.

Displays of affection abound. There’s a vibe of excitement stemming from the line that curves up from the stairs of the first floor to the second, leading to a small terribly lit corner at the Hammer bookstore (which sadly failed to stock up on enough books, “No One Belongs Here More Than You” was sold out before the signing started). There is July. She has an affable smile and seems a bit shy compared to the energy of the people in front of her. People take photographs, 600’s, 680’s, 690’s and big shot polaroids all make their debut. Two things I will likely remember: the moment her friends showed up in a flash mob to give her a group hug. And her hands. She has pianist hands that would be great to sketch in a life-drawing class (to see what I’m talking about, take a look at this Blonde Redhead video).