Jumping Ship

Billy Karesh travels the world as a wildlife veterinarian, and he hesitates to call his New York City apartment "home," and he says that anything that reminds him of the swamps of Charleston Bay where he grew up make him feel that warm "homey" feeling. He figures that humans, like fish, are imprinted with their spawning ground.

There is a place where the morning sun slants through the leaves while the wind plays with the light and blows on my coffee for me. This morning that was the patio of 40 Bank Street in the West Village.

There is a place where I can get off work, ride my bike into the autumn sun and find four guys waiting for me at the basketball courts. I can airball jumpshots and still get high-fives. Yesterday that was in Riverside Park, in Zoo York City.

But there is just one place where I can be, and feel like I'm a king of the dirt beneath my feet. A place where I can walk in any door, shake any hand, or talk to any girl. It's a place that makes me proud, defensive, and makes me cry when I'm too far away for too long. Everything compares to Steamboat, and Steamboat compares to nothing.

Call me a salmon.