“It’s an urge I’ve had from the age of eight onward, when I first discovered the pleasures of evasion.It was a Saturday in November and my parents were fighting again. There was nothing unusual about this. My parents were always fighting. Back then we lived in a four-room apartment on Nineteenth Street and Second Avenue. I was a Manhattan kid, born and bred. My dad worked as a midlevel executive in an advertising agency—a “business guy” who wanted to be a “creative guy,” but never had the “word ...talent” to write copy. Mom was a housewife. The apartment was cramped. Two narrow bedrooms, a small living room, and an even smaller dinette/kitchen, none of which could contain the frustrations that both my parents vented on a daily basis.It was only years later that I began to comprehend the strange dynamic that existed between them, a profound need to combust over anything, to live in an endless winter of discontent. But at the time all I knew was: my mom and dad didn’t like each other.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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