Summer Jam at Watkins Glen

ONE “Alexander, take the money.”  Alex glanced at the worn ten-dollar bill in Mr. Henri’s work-battered hand. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate the offer.” Rather than take the money, he grabbed his backpack from the bare metal floor of the old pickup truck, and...

Deep River

In the last hours of a late July day in 1976, Alexander Selkirk walked two miles down the descriptively named Long Hill Road until he came to the town green, a two-acre triangle of land with a scattering of old shade trees. Passing the small black canon, anchored to a...

The Slingshot Effect

It’s New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow is 1984. Orwell’s year. Alive 26 years, I’ve yet to devise a plan or discover a goal. For tonight, or for the rest of my life. I’ve spent most of the day inside my studio apartment, my box, on the top floor of a five-floor walkup in the...