All I can do is render the events as they occurred. It was drizzling that fateful, shellfish day in 1958 in New York City, when 38-year-old Evelyn Gush stood on her 19th floor ledge, shouted something about Bishop Fulton Sheen, and then stepped off the edge, hurtling to the terminal pavement while onlookers screamed, includingContinue reading “The Suicide, the Lobster and the Getaway”
Crumbling Asphalt 