PACKED on the midnight bus to Manhattan, J. went back to find what was left of the world he left behind not so long ago. Arrived early enough to bask in the glow of New York’s counterfeit dawn. He took the A train — the quickest way to Harlem —…

QUEUE up every tune you can think of for a mix tape about school. The Replacements missing the bus to stay cool, The Ramones looking for kicks and chicks, The White Stripes making new friends, The Police and Van Halen leering at students and teachers, Chuck Berry trying to get…

THE night after J. arrived, he met a girl with the most dolorous eyes in the whole damned world, blue as autumn distance, true forget-me-not blue, Yves Klein canvases, plangent like the off-kilter Teutonic contralto version of The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes” that Nico never recorded, that only existed…

HAVING settled in a portside seat, J. watched Jersey’s Palisades pass by up to Fort Lee as the Greyhound followed the Joe DiMaggio along the Hudson apartment cliff-banks. He caught brief glimpses, past the passengers across the aisle, of the sky funneling down the cross streets through Manhattan. The bus…

Heaven is hell in reverse — Elvis Costello

SUMMER had not yet passed, but in the shadow of fall, an otherwise unremarkably beauti­ful morning took on a liminal and melan­cholic significance, an Irish wake celebrated on that narrow span between Labor Day and the au­tumnal equinox.

J. sat on a…

Truncheon Press

5 smelly guys in a cramped room on Locust Street putting out about 3 books a month. #GilmoreGirls https://www.instagram.com/truncheonpress/

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