Like many people, I suppose, I sometimes fantasize about people from the past being resurrected and plopped down into contemporary life. Driving 70 on I-95 while listening to the Brandenburg Concertos I’ll imagine Bach sitting in the passenger seat, with a look of terrified delight. Yesterday, eating dinner at Brasserie Central in Merrick Park, I wished that Darwin could have been at the table to see his name tattooed on our busboy’s forearm.
