Morris Lurie

Speeding on the freeway, adrift in possibility, in pursuit of dreams, Bilson, the bookman, collections inspected, autographs and associated ephemera, catalogues, modern firsts, blinks to some sort of blockage suddenly dead ahead and stomping the brake feels that shoelace snapping on that shoe suddenly loose on that foot as simultaneously an exit presents to the left which faster than thinking he t ... (read more)

If we are not what we eat, and we are not, nor what we read, as we are also not, nevertheless a plate of latkes and a page of Saroyan do something to limn the portrait, as the crashing waves delineate the shoreline rock. Naah. Skip that. Who wants to nag about Saroyan, who needs latkes at this time of day? Let’s get to the real stuff. Let’s talk hair. I have more hair at forty-seven then ... (read more)