Shortly after his return in infirm old age to his native land, a little narrative of his adventures, forlornly published on sleazy gray paper, appeared among the peddlers, written, probably, not by himself, but taken down from his lips by another.
Finally, the building’s owners made their move, and in 1999 Mr. DiPrinzio joined the tenants committee that negotiated a noneviction condominium conversion plan and a 40 percent insiders’ discount.
Back on the beach in the far-flung Southeast, Tony Route and I hauled our gear into a USDA Forest Service cabin set in a bench of hemlocks over a remote salt chuck (a sort of brackish lake, connected to the sea by a channel that floods […] ) […] .
Though the fad ran its course long ago, the phrase “pet rock” endures in the American lexicon, denoting (depending on whether it is uttered with contempt or admiration) a useless entity or a meteoric success.]
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