Years ago, I made the acquaintance of a man who wrote on occasion. Beyond the ambition of the Big Score that busted-out writers and horse players dream of, he had none. His main occupation at that time was swilling vodka, browbeating his fellow barflies, and bemoaning what... Read More →

    In a rural stretch of East Africa, where I lived for two years, I once observed the fate of a flock of sheep without their shepherd. It was market day, and whoever was tending them had wandered off, distracted by the abundant produce temptingly spread across the... Read More →