on the Short Line Bus from Ithaca to NYC, I see a man standing in the river, not moving, with a white-coated lab mix next to him. I know it’s Roscoe because, moments later, we drive by a flat hillside where the words ROSCOE are planted in low-lying green bushes. The bus goes on. I wonder how much longer he’ll be standing there in the river, and if he’s cold.