For most of this autumn I lived just outside of Middlebury with a good friend of mine, my former Russian professor, in the gorgeous old farmhouse he shared with his concert cellist wife. The two of them were gracious enough to take me in for the autumn after my somewhat precipitate return from Montreal. The plan was that I would stay on through the winter, as a housesitter, …

4:30 AM, Bedford L stop, four cops emerge from an L train and handcuff one Peter Fitzgerald (unassuming hipstery white guy) for the crime of, apparently, running to catch a train. Cue all-around intimidation and rudeness. Badge numbers are 4257, 988, 1899, and 11511. After half an hour of questioning, young Fitzgerald, whom I have never met, is released with a spurious summons, and I am ostenta…