Byline: Nathan Graziano

Lately, in some of my idle mental space, I’ve been thinking about people from my past, and for some reason, I keep thinking about Closet Pete.

Trump frequently interrupted or spoke over Ms. Collins, making sexist gestures and jabs that the audience applauded and hawed at. At one point, he referred to Ms. Collins as “a nasty person” for refusing to cede the stage to his lies, and the audience applauded him for that as well. 

year ago on Monday, I received a phone call from my cousin that I knew would be coming, yet it didn’t make it any easier to navigate when she spoke the actual words.

I presume I can speak on behalf of all Bruins fans when I say that Sunday night’s Game 7 loss to the Florida Panthers in the first round on the playoffs was a real kick in the Richard.

As a public school educator and a parent whose children attended public schools, I would like to take this opportunity

But fret not, dear reader, as Alexander Pope penned, “hope springs eternal” in another form for me these days. Hope springs in the form of a gambling application called “DraftKings” that The Gray-Haired Man—the bozo normally responsible for writing this column—recently introduced to me.

I’m not sure who needs to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway for those who do: Your beer choice does not determine your sexuality or affect your gender identification in any way.

And despite the fact that poetry remains a rare art form where its practitioners outnumber the audience, I’m going to try to make the case that poetry is not only relevant, but it’s the most important thing in the world.

While driving through my hometown, it occurred to me that West Warwick and Manchester—the city where I’ve lived and raised my family for the past two decades—are essentially the same place, a similar kind of “home” for me.

I earned my moniker based on my average tip. I was so terrible at serving the public their meals that my shifts were restricted to Wednesday lunches where seniors ate half-price, and my section was limited a pair of two-tops by the kitchen. On occasion, I was assigned a four-top when the manager pitied me, in the way one might pity a three-legged dog.