Off comes the football helmet with the big yellow O plastered on the side. On goes a visor with a shaded-green bill.
I'm evolving from wide-eyed football analyst to squinty-eyed editor, and because I am more capable than most of making the transition from huddled head-banger to lonely pencil-wielder, I expect to have a great deal of fun in the short term.
I will be reading the work of a pair of writers who evidently trust my profound literary good sense, if not my grammatical expertise.
Such wise men are rare, so I humbly thank them for allowing me the privilege.
A whale of a story has landed in my lap from an author given to lusty meditations on boats and commerce, on Mexican whores and lazy workers, on capital and risk, on things that matter in the rainy world of sage-poets and dreamers.
From another source, I shall soon receive a manuscript telling a story that, like the recipe for a good, albeit questionably healthy breakfast, has been circulating in the vast space of the cyber-world for months.
The overriding question is--will the traveler find nirvana at the end of the road?
What we have shall soon be revealed first to me and a few others, and later, with luck, to you.
TS
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