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My name is Juliette. I’m a husky. I am the lead dog on the team that Hugo, our musher, takes to the Iditarod race up in Alaska in March. Lotta people would say I’m a bossy chick. Well, yeah. Can’t really be a good lead dog and not be bossy. I got an example. Gaston…

Sheila and Franklin Standish were twins. In May of 1964 they had turned fifteen and were at a birthday party in their parents’ home on Morningside Heights. The US Postal Service called the space an apartment. It was really a loft, but that term had yet to catch on in Manhattan. One of the many…

“Geese, Eric, that’s great advice. Makes me feel so much more relaxed.” “Don’t look down, Wyles. Don’t look down.” Rat and I were clinging to the stair handles on the outside of a box car a couple hundred feet over the Mississippi as the train crawled into a switching yard in St. Louis. From one…

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“I have to take this into H&M and return it,” said Linda as the October wind funneled us down Prince Street. We turned into the store and whiffs of perfume and leather drifted up my nose. As a little boy, holding my mother’s hand, those smells would transport me. They still do, but with age…

I amble down 17th Street to Harris Teeter three times a week. It’s a supermarket. Usually I’m in search of a big donut with chocolate slopped all over it, or some southwestern chicken soup. About a month ago, I was headed there with every intention of turning left at Kalorama to go into Teeter. Didn’t…

VIRGIL AND THE GIRLS I amble down 17th Street to Harris Teeter three times a week. It’s a supermarket. Usually I’m in search of a big donut with chocolate slopped all over it, or some southwestern chicken soup. About a month ago, I was headed there with every intention of turning left at Kalorama to…

I’d just lumbered through the front door of Billy Straybuck’s Adams Morgan condo when I heard, “Sunuvabich, I got called for jury duty again!” “Well, damn, Billy, I thought sitting in judgment of some lowlife who shot gunned an old lady cashier in a convenience story would be something you’d look forward to. Know I…

Sally and I had just hugged goodbye after lunch at Saint of X over on 14th Street. I was chuckling because she’d told me some stories about how political correctness has run amuck in the world of social activism. The one about “micro sexist aggression” was the topper. Still chuckling, I headed east on Florida…

He was born in South Carolina on April 30, 1906, twelve days after the great quake nearly incinerated San Francisco. He stayed in the Palmetto State until he left to go north in 1928 while the nation braced for hard times. Now and again he’d go back to tidy up family affairs, but the General…