Sol Luckman

So it was a crossroads summer, when the universe seemed to stand perilously still like an egg wobbling on a precipice, a regular rite of passage summer that saw us traverse the hazardous divide between the illusions of boyhood and the far more pernicious deceptions of maturity, et cetera.

True, beneath the human façade, I was an interloper, an alien whose ship had crashed beyond hope of repair in the backwoods of Southern Appalachia__ut at least I__ learned to walk and talk enough like the locals to be rejected as one of their own.

Have you ever noticed how good things go to those who hate?

Spanish__ow shall I say this?__s likePortuguese spoken with a speech impediment.

I should think a dead language would be rather boring, sociallyspeaking.