This is one of my favorite writers, the great Joseph Mitchell. He's the man who suffered an epic case of writer's block and still came to work every day at The New Yorker from 1964 until his death in 1996, and wrote not one word for publication in all that time. In earlier days, he covered the waterfront and everything else in New York, and had a particular fondness for the diners and restaurants where the commercial fishermen ate. How about lunch at Sloppy Louie's?
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| This is from back in the day before people were dumb enough to write and read texts as they drove. It is really swell when people don't have traffic boners. |
Breakfast fit for a King.
No words of mine can add to the words of the great Dorothy Parker, who joins me in looking forward to a mighty fine Fall!
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