What is it like to be you? he was always asking, in his way, and it seemed a stupid question then. I didn’t know. I could lie better than I could tell the truth. I hadn’t left yet.
My aspiration to spend time at sea as requisite literary training died long ago, as a teenager, on a white-knuckled ferry ride to Elba during a torrential rainstorm. Not only…
The boat comes out of the water, lifted from above. Airborne but steady, she is cradled by slings, wheeled forward from water to land by the lift that hoists her.