Retriever Ethics
By Gary Joseph Cohen
1 Jul 2008
In my lifetime, I wonder how many faces I've seen, and how many faces my face lives behind. I wonder, for instance, if the woman who asked me for a pen at a 7th Avenue pay phone (remember those?) over thirteen years ago can recall the asymmetry of my smile in the level of detail I can recall the twist in her auburn hair (not to mention, her eyes were greener than a bushel of granny smiths). As the years go on and my head resembles more a plum tomato than the coconut of my youth, I wander up and down streets, scanning with the methodical sweep of a metal detector for scars and pouts; for bitterness and amelioration; for parallels to and dissonances from my life; for the wrong-side-bed and early-bird approaches to encountering the everydayness of existence. I have become a kind of terrier in this way, maybe even more of a retriever than I care to admit, and jump at every opportunity to fetch this to you, my beloved strangers.
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