The red-smocked amNY guy smiled wide and with a proud, “Good morning, big bro!” extended a copy of the subway [...]
I am writing this on the laptop you stole from me. Remember? No of course you don’t. What an asshole [...]
The week before I pried myself away from New York and moved to Japan to teach English, the New Yorker [...]
"A short but deeply researched, dark, intense biography... studded with original aperçus about the art of biography, the nature of literary influence, and the importance of place to a writer's sensibility." -- Priscilla Gilman, The Boston Globe
The red-smocked amNY guy smiled wide and with a proud, “Good morning, big bro!” extended a copy of the subway newspaper my way. I stood there grinning sheepishly, neither taking the paper nor brushing him off. This was a breach of the rules of our relationship, not unlike showing up unannounced at a new fling’s apartment, flowers in hand, just to hang out.
For a while now, I’ve made it a daily routine to sneak past this particular guy as I exit the station en route to a quick errand, only to grab a copy of the paper when I return shortly thereafter. This particular guy and I hit it off quickly, jumping almost immediately into a bewitching world of fist bumps and calling each other, “my man.” One time he went so far as to lightly touch my shoulder and tell me to have a great day; an act that amounts to, “I think I’m falling for you,” in the world of daily circulars.read more...