One of the great things about moving is that you can finally stop the renewals on all those magazines that you never read. Except the New Yorker. Never. Ever. Even if they threaten to stop my subscription for non-payment, I pony up the money at the last minute for another 46 issues. So it is with great relief that I arrive at my new home on Saturday (after seven weeks on vacation) to see the latest Aug. 2 issue of the New Yorker magazine in the mailbox. After devouring the articles on Al Qaeda, the power of the Internet and other meaty topics, I came across a fictional piece by one of my favorite authors, Richard Ford, who won the Pulitzer Prize for his wonderful novel, "Independence Day." When I told my husband the story was about a Realtor and his client at the Jersey shore, he sugges...
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