I, Jack Swilling

Yesterday I was delirious, and the day before that, or several before that. Tonight, though, I seem to be aware of everything I’ve ever known . . . . It’s dark, double dark because of the mist that August steams from the Colorado. Yet I can see almost very place I’ve ever been . . .

All the men I liked are having drinks with me or yarning around campfires scattered from the Appalachians to the Paci...