Sierra Cub members doing grunt work on New York’s Riverside Park. For free. That’s what it was. But one of them was a runner. He took off to Central Park, looking for a magic place.
Lee and Willard, two of my roommates at the hostel, know I’m going. They’ll hardly raise a panic if I don’t return, none of their worry.
“Screw it! He’s a grown man, he knew what he was doing,” they’ll say.
Willard is an educated bubba from Arkansas. He despises Republicans and defies anybody bossing him around. “Let me see your supervisor’s licenses,” he demands.
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