A girl named Eucharist.
In the trunk of her car, my mother used to keep a collapsible easel, a clutch of brushes, a little wooden case stocked with tubes of paint, and, tucked into the spare-tire well, one of my father’s old, tobacco-stained shirts, for a smock. She’d be out running errands, see something wonderful, pull over, and pop the trunk. I never knew anyone better prepared to meet with beauty.
Jill Lepore, The Prodigal Daughter
There’s an important piece in the New York Times about the boy who “strolled up the street in the tiny Catskills town of Pine Hill one day in the summer of 1965 carrying ‘The Catcher in the Rye.'” Summer.