I wondered what the pigeon was remembering.
I was remembering brick like that, like home, Grand Street, the faces of women who never appeared without lipstick or stockings, unless they were at the laundry mat on a Tuesday morning, running four machines at once - colors, whites, linens, socks - and then they wore audacious curlers and important house dresses bought on sale from Klein's or Alexanders.
It was nice to see home.
**
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