A Sort Of Homecoming

In the book I'm writing, Something Solid, different characters emerge, with different degrees of distinctness. Chris (DeFranco), a childhood friend of mine, has emerged as one of the less distinct characters. There were things about Chris, it is true, that could be considered generic. His main cultural pursuit was sports, and sports betting. He was a betting ring kind of dude. On the other hand, it was quirky about Chris that he had an odd, unexpected sympathy with art and creativity, and often attracted unexpected friends, like myself. His extensive connections to Abington in the Nineties became mine, too. Cheltenham to Abington then was Nineties revolution, all over again. Chris was a diehard U2 guy, as well. We went to see the Zoo TV show at Veterans Stadium in '92— incidentally, still the best rock show I've ever seen. Even if Bono speaking at my Penn graduation resembled Tom Waits himself covering Jeff Buckley. As per New Year's Eve, the one in question is '97 into '98. Most of the piece is reportage. The house I return to here is on Lindley Road, in Glenside, which followed on the heels of Upper Merion. When I returned to State College, I bought a Celtic Cross, black leather pants, and occupied a bedsit in North Halls. As of April, I would finally crack the code towards emerging as the writer I wanted to be. Manhattan would lay in wait, in the distance. Sublets would be themselves. And 1998 would become a year I would remember very fondly indeed. The last year I saw or heard from Chris with frequency.