A year later to the day a second copy of Carson Cistulli's Assorted Fictions arrived from Chuckwagon -- or rather, was forwarded from my previous address. As smart-assed and undeniably giddy about it as the day it was stapled:

During Little League, the coaches always told us to "look alive." "How else can we look?" I asked one time. So it was, on my behalf, a stroke of cleverness and bravery.

Remarkably, this was some ten years before my first drink.

In related news, I located my copy of Del Ray Cross's book, and came across Tanya Larkin's essay about Kenneth's first two collecteds in the Boston Review. (I'm grateful for the mention there but should add that I was one of three editors of the Collected Fiction, in case anybody cares.)