Wearing Bare Feet is a linked collection of wry short stories about a family of three on fictional Eel Island, three miles off the coast of Maine, an island that revolves around lobstering, tourism, billionaire movie stars, department store heirs, jewelry store heiresses, people who houseclean for snowbirds ... and the old, rich and entitled summer people who come back from Florida for the annual Fourth of July Parade, and then die. Because it is easier to die there. It is why the 13-mile-long rock off America has more ambulances per capita than anywhere else in New England.
It also has a lot of guys who just smoke skunk weed that\u27s happened to fall off the sterns of fishing boats, drink 16-ounce Bud tallboys in brown glass only (cans are for pussies), cut grass and plow snow. And play with their dump trucks.
These are stories about life. About parenthood. About husbands and wives. About canines in decline. Cancer. Lapsed Catholicism. Being a fake Jew. And Mexican food
