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The Street was my father’s life. He was a commission merchant in Washington Market, contracting for crops from farmers in Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas, California, Texas, and just about everywhere…
Credo in a kind of
American jewish Hamlet-like
bagel, too round for action
yet leavened enough by contact
with the near-dead past—you call it
landscape, I call it history—to provide
a layered vantage…
Murray:People fall into two distinct categories. Miss Markowitz; people who like delicatessen, and people who don’t like delicatessen. A man who is not touched by the earthy lyricism of hot…
…He heard a thud in the living room, heard a thud, and couldn’t identify it: “Are you all right?” he called.
“I was just being careless,” M called back. “I’m all right.”
“You fell. Poor kid. What’d…