My father rode the incoming tide, waves of brown-banded fedoras flowing toward the beaches of Manhattan Island. Steel rails beat a hypnotic rhythm as riders folded Their New York Times into practical quarters, just inside their personal space, be it isle or window.
Fueled on coffee and a peck on the cheek from the chauffeur-wife at the station drop-off, all smoked, almost incessantly. Lucky Strike, Pall Mall, L&M, Old Gold. LSMFT. Nicotine stained finger tips clutched a yellow #2 scratching out answers to the crossword puzzle. Hats like metal helmets, woolen suits with nondescript ties, dark and muted, their armor.
The daily crusade. They knew where they were going, without question for the path. A paycheck, the treasured chalice, to hold dear and bring back home when the tide receded at the end of each day.
The TV knew, it was a world of black and white, a simpler time, before the spawn of a Technicolor chaos that both afforded and challenged the American dream.
hmh
Fueled on coffee and a peck on the cheek from the chauffeur-wife at the station drop-off, all smoked, almost incessantly. Lucky Strike, Pall Mall, L&M, Old Gold. LSMFT. Nicotine stained finger tips clutched a yellow #2 scratching out answers to the crossword puzzle. Hats like metal helmets, woolen suits with nondescript ties, dark and muted, their armor.
The daily crusade. They knew where they were going, without question for the path. A paycheck, the treasured chalice, to hold dear and bring back home when the tide receded at the end of each day.
The TV knew, it was a world of black and white, a simpler time, before the spawn of a Technicolor chaos that both afforded and challenged the American dream.
hmh
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