Meeting Your Heroes
535 Words. 2 Minute Read.
You can throw all that “don’t meet your heroes” bullshit out the window. This home is EXACTLY what it looks like in Wes Anderson’s magnum opus. Even though you know Margot, Richie, and Chas don’t live there, you can’t help but hope to see Pagoda step outside in his pink trousers. I even looked up to see if Mordecai was flying around.
Conclaves with a NYC Poet
511 Words. 2 Minute Read.
In it sat a man in his 60s: unattached and effortlessly stylish. He wore a wrinkled linen suit, a cotton neckerchief, and loafers sans socks. His glasses were dark and thick, framing a symmetrical, weathered face. I saw scads of stylish men in New York, but this Lower East Side poet was sprezzatura incarnate.
Joni & Jackson Hole
347 Words. 1 Minute Read.
The cabin next to mine was full of girls from northern California who were whitewater guides. I was in awe of them. They were beautiful, athletic, and had a way of living life that was different from anything I had seen in Georgia.
A Walk on 5th Avenue
429 Words. 2 Minute Read.
I crossed over 54th and saw a homeless man. His posture was oddly reminiscent of an ancient Roman, lying on his side with his back against the wall of the University Club—impossible to ignore, erupting with curiosities.
Perspective in Chicago
1,354 Words. Six Minute Read.
As I write this, I’m sitting in row 38 on a 737 at O’Hare going zero miles per hour. Row 38 is the very last one with seats that don’t recline because you share a wall with the lavatory – a thin wall, I might add. I thought the fuselage exploded when the first person flushed the commode. I’m not kidding, I about had a damn heart attack.