Manhattan —
Their eyes met for little more than a second. “Cool” J.C. Rocwell acted instinctively. He sprang from where he sat and fell into step with the white-haired passer-by. At 6’2″, Rocwell towered above his new friend.
“Hello buddy,” he said as he intercepted the man’s path and pulled papers from the black Polo Sport bag slung around his shoulder. He thrust the bundle towards the captive observer. “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “Do you like poetry?”
