Cavagnaro’s Bar & Grill

East Hampton, New York

In the summer of 1980—the summer I adopted Cavagnaro’s Bar & Grill as my local—I rented a house in the woods of East Hampton as a form of therapy. I hoped to recover the social skills I’d lost while writing my first book in near total isolation, in a dilapidated trailer in the Northern California wine country, where my only regular visitor was a seventy-five-year-old fishing buddy. Jack and I played cribbage for a nickel a point and drank Brown Derby beer with shots of Old Overholt back. I don’t recall either of us mentioning books or literature.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.