Gilded Promise
The city hit me like a physical force when I stepped off the train at Penn Station in the spring of 1925. The noise was the first thing, a wall of sound that made me stop on the platform and grip my suitcase handle until my knuckles turned white. The light was the second thing, the way the morning sun hit the steel towers and made them glow the color of gold. I had two hundred dollars in my...
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