The book tumbled into my mother’s garbage can. I read the plain gray cover from above: My Vapor: The Life and Times of Stark Perry. Fishing the volume out, I snuck it into a folder of items just for me. As my parents prepared for their big move from New York State to join my young family in North Carolina, they were pitching dead weight, chucking heaps of photos and old papers. But My Vapor I was keeping for myself.

Old people often tell me they wish they had written down their life stories. Sometimes they ask me to read manuscripts or self-published volumes, which often turn out boring because they’re built from nostalgia rather than plot and fine detail.

Not My Vapor.