Photo: Kamira / Shutterstock.com The first time I was in New York, I was fifteen, my brother was eighteen, and we had two suitcases plus four unexpected hours before a flight. We left our bags in this girl Megan’s hotel room—a camp friend of his, long story—and...
Photo by Alexander Reitter / Shutterstock.com This is a story of grease, and the bonds it forms. We were three good Jewish boys, Flatbush yeshiva bochurim, and when we went about breaking the law of our forefathers, we did so thoroughly and with care and diligence....
There’s a photo I love to shareI’m flying over the Hudsonin a tiny planesporting giant headphonesa blonde side braidJohn Lennon shadesa toothless grin. Out of framemy pilot friend observeswhat he perceives as peace. Later that dayafter we landin a Jersey fieldorder...
Which his father did when the balloon string slipped from his fingers. Which was weird. His father had never held his hand in public before. Years later he wondered if his father wanted to keep him that day from floating off, too. At the time, though, they stood...
Photo by Jay Dobkin, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons Before I walk you to the train, I have to stoplooking at you for the hour preceding thismoment, in which we are late to the train & you are, therefore, late to your new job, & in thispre-moment, which...
Photo by Doug Kerr from Upstate New York, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons There’s this little one-room cabin in Mexico, New York (just off Lake Ontario) on a plot of land circled by three trailers on a sparsely-populated street. Amanda and I needed a place to...
