Ican recall, so many times, in my younger days, walking into situations that were outside of and beyond anything I had experienced before, and being able to flow through them, no problem, without having to know every little detail about what was going to happen or how things would turn out.

Going back to the early days, before I even started school, when my dad would lead me down to the dark, dank cellar, where diminutive men from Italy, who could barely speak English, would gather to hang out and get haircuts from the old barber. The mirrored dresser, which served as his work station, was strewn with tonics and gels and religious artifacts.

... where they played that strange hand game in the darkness under the stairwell, with two men facing off, fiercely flashing out fingers and shoutin

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