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.
Signs of Aging
540 Words. 2 Minute Read.
If I’m being honest, there are a few other signs of aging, and I’m not talking about my daily nap, the fact that I need readers (especially in dimly lit restaurants—TURN ON THE DAMN LIGHTS!), or the pretzel-like stretches I use to relieve my lower back pain.
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. 6 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.