I love finding a jewel among vintage photos. The ones that pull at your sleeve with
their mystery; a snapshot of a particular story. But today, I still have John Fante on the brain.
There was also this passionate need for her. I had it from the first time I saw her. She went away that first time, she walked out of her aunt's house where we had met at tea, and I was no good without her, absolutely a cripple until I saw her again. But for her I might have lived out my life in other streams—a reporter, a bricklayer—whatever was at hand.
—John Fante, Full of Life