What makes Sammy run, a distinct nod of the head to the great Budd Schulberg, is a whole hell of a lot less interesting to me than what makes Jeffrey Wengrofsky tick. Because first and foremost was his almost insane level of belief in self, which took the form of hectoring emails along the lines of “read my stuff…have you yet read my stuff?!?!”
Sitting in the editorial cat bird seat at a digital online publication of some minor note I finally did. And like the Seussian Sam-I-Am, I was pleased beyond all measure at finally reading what I had been avoiding reading.
Wengrofsky’s prose is tight, funny, acerbic and a little heartbreaking and to make things better/cooler, we hailed from the same scene: New York Hardcore. The Wolfboy of Rego Park, named after a section of Queens I wouldn’t have been caught dead in, wolfboys notwithstanding, is his first long form bit of magic and I was as happy to read it as I was to get it. Because Wengrosky’s got it. Which means you should get it. Because I told you so.
The Wolfboy of Rego Park is out now on Far West Press. Get it here.
