The death of a lawyer: A journey from law school to retirement
Douglas Halpert.
On some mornings, fog shrouds the Ohio River, settling into the river valley like loosely applied caulk. Twenty-three years ago, while on my way to work, my car weaved through the thick, shape-shifting strands as I navigated Kellogg Avenue, which follows the contours of the river toward downtown Cincinnati.
It was then that I noticed a cluster of turkey vultures astride a deer on the right side of the road. They clung tenaciously to its carcass as their impossibly large, pitch-black wings flapped in the wind. As my car approached, one of the birds tore off a piece of venison and consumed it as it lifted off.