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.
**
Related Posts:
Sunday Memories: What The Stork Brought
Sunday Memories: Grand Street - Aladdin's Cave
Sunday Memories: In The Garden Of Eden There Are Stars Up Above
