where the writers are

bill freeman's Writings

It Was Raining Of course it was raining. The gods conspire in our dramas. We didn't care. Only our poster Of The Wild One was getting wet. We'd been soaked for hours, ducking In and out of bars along Sixth Avenue. We were swimming toward K's apartment, Refugees from the circus matinee At Madison Square Garden. Champagne in the empty press box. Floating on her...