Going Green, or: Poetic Justice
by W.D. Ehrhart I’ve just purchased a piece of the state of New Jersey. Really. It’s ten feet by ten feet and located in a lovely pine forest. Sooner or later—I’m 73 now, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for “later”—it will become my final resting place when I shuffle off this mortal coil and join the Choir Invisible. My wife will eventually be there with me, too, though she’s younger than me and thus has a better shot at “later.” But why South Jersey? I’ve never lived there and have no family connection to the area. All my life, I’ve been completely …