511 Words. 2 Minute Read.

In it sat a man in his 60s: unattached and effortlessly stylish. He wore a wrinkled linen suit, a cotton neckerchief, and loafers sans socks. His glasses were dark and thick, framing a symmetrical, weathered face. I saw scads of stylish men in New York, but this Lower East Side poet was sprezzatura incarnate.

429 Words. 2 Minute Read.

I crossed over 54th and saw a homeless man. His posture was oddly reminiscent of an ancient Roman, lying on his side with his back against the wall of the University Club—impossible to ignore, erupting with curiosities.

925 Words. 4 Minute Read

I’ve met poets, playwrights, media personalities, bankers, architects, lawyers, journalists, haberdashers, professors, nonprofit directors, academics, actors, musicians, ministers, restaurateurs, anarchists, Marxists, and a variety of intellectuals and entrepreneurs. 45 days in the greatest city in the world. And I am exhausted. The Big Apple got its pound of flesh. How arrogant to believe I would be the exception to the rule.

1,271 Words. 5 Minute Read.

I’ve also heard rumors of a cloth satchel that holds the actual seeds of Cuba’s most valuable export. This national treasure is locked behind a ten-ton steel door at the base of a mountain, guarded around the clock by illiterate mercenaries in flip-flops and track shorts. Inside the satchel is the byproduct of years of crossbreeding scientifically engineered variations of the leafy seed of God.

631 Words. 2 Minute Read.

For starters, there’s a sign hanging on the front door that says, “No Laptops.” And that, I love - no hipsters, no terribly dressed tech nerds with obnoxious Apple products protruding from their ears, and no post-millennials trying to change the world from the comfort of the Upper East Side; just tiny tables and French music – it’s a beautiful thing.