“But from the porch at the back of our house you went three steps down to a long narrow garden―at least the garden seemed long to me―and if you walked to the end of the garden and peered through the ivy-covered bars of the fence, as I had done when I was so little that I could barely walk alone, you had the first mighty thrill of your life.”
Pool, Ernest. “The Harbor”. The Place Where We Dwell: Reading and Writing About New York City. Eds. Juanita But, Mark Noonan, and Sean Scanlan. Dubuque, IA: Kendall Hunt, 2012. 240. Print.
Although the man offered me the seat on the train―whom I thought would be ever so gluttonous to take it―I decided to stay where I was on the back-end of the train and cope with standing on my tired feet, as I would usually have done each time so that I won’t get that claustrophobic feeling, just to be right next to the door.
