Sublime

John Ruhlin, John Kane, Jon Vroman, and Hal Elrod, thank you for your friendship, inspiration, and support through this writing journey.

Frank Donovan, a lifetime close friend and a lawyer from Detroit. He was known among his friends and clients as a brilliant legal analyst with a nonaggressive temperament. No litigator. When we were both twenty, I remember him saying: "When there's a fight, I pick up my hat and go home." He had a large head, somewhat out of proportion to

if Perkins did not have the time of his life, he would wheelbarrow him all the way back to New York.

But I was happy about this chance to be of use. I wanted to be the one who saw it through and got Mclnnes to the doctor without a wreck. People would talk about it, and I hoped I would be liked.

“I now bleed Morgan blood,” he says. “This is what I am going to do until they don’t want me here anymore.”

everyone around the Saint Paul levees came to know “Jim” Hill, his name usually rendered as one word, “Jimhill,” a man who always seemed up on anything and everything that went on.

Robert has gone to Our House, an AIDS hospice. He seems very happy there and continues to manifest a steady change of attitude. At this very moment, I am looking at an advance directive, a document that states that Robert has chosen me to make medical decisions for him when he is unable to make them for himself. This is a humbling experience, and I

“I lit into them. ‘You goddamn cowards, afraid to face who you are. Pat, you’re a mooching drunk who screws his own cousin and sponges off everyone. You, Duff, you’re great company, I love you, but let’s face it, you hop beds hoping to find some unidentified something you lost. And you, Harold, you know your trouble? You’re a Guggenheim with no pri