ANIMALS Gus Franza Johnson was all hands. They flew about, they opened, they closed, they pointed, they shook. They were orchestrating mortality during lunch on a riverboat plying soft waterways. "There was the alligator," he said, eyes locked on mine, "watching. Those green eyes of his, honing in, and the two ducks just sat there. The alligator moves in closer. I could see him thinking. The dumb little ducks didn’t have a clue of what was about to happen." Johnson’s hands traveled [...]
Continue reading