"This story," I said, "goes a little beyond quirky. Maybe kinky is the more appropriate word." I set the scene in the dark shadows of AIDS in mid-80s NYC.
Soon we'd be snaking through the freight yards and pulling into the Amtrak platform at L.A.'s Union Station. It was a dramatic opening scene - almost cinematic - filled with promise.
I first read his (earlier) novel, Burning Valley, in college - a requirement for a class on "working class literature."