By Jason Brown

The reasons for my wandering mind must be a simple matter: an architect recently retired to our town on the coast of Maine and began to row his single shell in the river that parallels the 

route I take every morning to drink coffee with the other geezers at the Front Street Diner. The first time I noticed him, I pulled off the road and watched him just long enough to determine that he’d had coaching at some point in his life. 

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