It has been a while since I’ve heard anything from Daboberto Gilb. I can remember liking his collection of short stories The Magic of Blood, but not his novel the Last Know Residence of Mickey Acuna. It is amazing how one bad book can completely turn you off to other books by a writer. He has a new story in the New Yorker. It is OK, very LA of a certain time, especially all his Dodger references. However, I wasn’t wowed by it, but it did have a certain charm. His style was a bit tedious, but at least, it didn’t have an epiphany for an ending.