We rode the New York City subway cars alone
when we were fourteen.
“In a one… horse… o…pen…,” we carolers sang in harmony. With the slightest trace of a smile as he passed us, the officer reached the door at the other end of the car, yanked it open and just before exiting announced, “No candles” over the train’s din.Read More
November meant snow back then, filling winter’s cup from Thanksgiving on, spilling over one day into the next, and the next after that, till the first flakes of November lay buried under layers thick as the great heaps of wet winter clothing discarded by the kitchen door at the end of every winter day.Read More
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