The Short Stories of Waldo

I had heard the story once or twice before. I believe the first time was on a park bench beside the Red Robin Diner in Johnson City, New York.

Red Robin

 

The second time surprised me because of my location. I was sitting next to an elderly gentleman on a Greyhound bus ride between Malone and Binghamton; both in New York.

It was surely a tale to be heard and then dismissed.

But now I am now compelled to tell you this story because of something that I recently read in an old yellowing newspaper. To be exact it wasn’t called a newspaper when it was printed; sometime around 1865. It was called a periodical; you know, one of those monthly ink menstruations. To my best recollection it was the Atlantic Monthly – – – but please don’t hold me to that.

Ragged Lake

 

I cannot vouch for the veracity of the…

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