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A Room With A View

 


I keyed into my dark room at the Sloane House YMCA and felt for a switch on the wall. An overhead light clicked on. Nothing scurried across the floor or bed. Good start. 

The powder blue room was about seven feet wide. I bet I could lean to my left, touch that wall with one hand, then push off to touch the other one with my right hand. 

I dropped my bags and the World's Heaviest Briefcase on a twin bed along the left side. A cheap pine armoire filled one corner at the foot of the bed. A wide, white Formica shelf on the right served as desk and home base for a 12-inch black and white TV. I didn't see any cable. 

The far wall was bisected by sooty oilcloth drapes. I opened them, fully expecting a brick wall or an old man clipping his toenails like you'd see in a movie. But the actual sight caught my breath.

I had a clear view straight down to the World Trade Center towers. Their windows were lit up pretty strongly for a Saturday evening. A beacon at the tip of Manhattan, this was the New York of my dreams. I smiled for the first since leaving the Amtrak station in Lima 18 hours earlier. 

I made it. 




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