The Spirits of Greenport

The ‘citiots’ are coming. Having spotted a herd of fanny packs on the horizon, I sent a fistful of golden chocolate doubloons raining down on the throng of incoming tourists. Beside me, my classmate, Dory—named, ironically enough, after the fishing boat—bellowed “Ahoy, matey!” in a quasi-pirate accent. Adjusting the feathers on my skull-and-crossbones cap, I…

The Colors of the Sky

On an afternoon in the late 1960s, John Pagano’s Rambler rolled to a stop on the service road of the Grand Central Parkway. His son, Joey, pressed his face against the passenger window, eyes trained on Runway 4. Having grown up four miles away from La Guardia Airport, Joey didn’t have to read fairy tales…

Anchored to the North Fork

Where infants come out of the womb wearing floaties Baptized by ocean spray, Where a sun-worn Grady-White is more coveted Than a vintage Chevrolet Where the biggest debates revolve Around Sound versus Bay, Which Fork is superior and— Dare I say it— Whose wife makes the best fish fillet Where “I Spy” means binoculars scouring…