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Channeling Mark Twain

A Novel
Chapter One

The pimps got on the bus at the stop just before the end of the line. The end of the line was Rikers Island and the stop before was just at the foot of a very long bridge. I’d read somewhere that the Rikers Island bridge was over five thousand feet long and before it was built the only way to reach the island was by ferryboat. Now the bridge connected the island with the City, but the largest penal colony in the United States was still remote. But not so remote, I wrote in my notebook, that pimps couldn’t manage to slouch out past the great glittering skyline, hats on their heads, to haul in their booty. I added an exclamation point, then glanced out the window. Here the East River swirled up into a curse from the days of the Dutch: Helegat, bright passage, anglicized to Hell Gate—sinister waters. Hell Gate: where killer currents swirled out from under the Triboro Bridge (I was scribbling again now) and swept around Rikers Island where it lay, between La Guardia Airport and the Hunt’s Point sewage treatment plant, between sludge pumps and the rolling sky. Between shit and he ... read full excerpt from: Channeling Mark Twain ebook