Notes into the Hudson
New York is like a drunk woman—you think you have her figured out, and then she turns around and you don't even remember her name. My name is Jack Morane, and in October of 1927, I was twenty-six years old, living in a rooming house near Washington Square, and trying to convince myself that what I was learning in that basement on Mulberry Street was more than just a trick. I arrived in New York...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 1 مشاهدة 0 معاينة