A man came up to me with a book in his hands.
I had just stepped off the field at historic New Bridge Landing after playing a vintage baseball game – no gloves, 1864 rules. I have my own books to sell so I know how it feels to share work into which you’ve put your soul. But I could not talk. I was rushing to an old-style daguerreotype team photo where the pose has to be held for ten minutes. After that, I could not find him anywhere. That book is the newest addition to the Fitzgerald’s 1928 Writers’ Bookshelf.