Davis called, told me he was dying. He said his case was—here was ­essence of Davis—time sensitive. “Come visit,” he said. “Bid farewell to the ragged rider.” “You?” I said. “The cigarette hater? That’s just wrongness.”

John decided to leave for the wedding on Thursday night in order to avoid the Friday traffic. They’d encounter it on their return, no way around that, with thousands of cars on I-95 regardless of the high price of gas.

Day after day I went through the ­paternal motions, testing my son while he tested me, trying to teach him not only to do what I said, which seems like a given, but also to see and taste the world in certain ways, with an ideal in mind, a purified vision of the best way to live reduced to a rudimentary, five-year-old version: good eye contact with others, a sustained gaze, not just looking, but giving an indication of having seen—a head nod—and maintained long enough to show respect and not too much fear.

I once dated a girl who, when faced with restaurant toast, would take only one bite of each of her four restaurant-toast halves. She said she didn’t want any of the restaurant-toast halves to feel neglected.

The grumblings of their stomachs were intertwined and unassignable.

Once upon a time there was a girl who spent so much time looking at her hens that she came to understand their souls and their desires intimately.

Meself and Chips were down the Blind Ref one night when this young head-the-ball walks in. A young lad he was, a right looking head-the-ball. “Ay ay,” says Chips, sucking the stout out of his mustache. 

Someone who has never stolen is not going to under-stand me. And someone who has never stolen roses will never be able to understand me. When I was little, I stole roses.

We’d been shooting for two weeks already, melting. Most of the crew had chiggers bad. Chiggers, we were told, crawl in and lay eggs beneath your skin. They attack ankles and genitals. The cure is nail polish.

I walked the beach when all was dark, reciting the names of the forgotten, names languishing on dusty shelves, until the sun came out again. But are they forgotten names or only names in waiting?