As the decades have ticked by, one day in the life resides high in the clear air above all the others. Critical to my youth, to be sure, yet in retrospect, although I could not have known it then, the day was integral to my future life as a writer. Two sleeps following my fourteenth birthday, I left home. A more serious wander than those at the age of t…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Trevor Ferguson’s (aka John Farrow) Substack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.