Shadows on the Hudson
The rain in New York doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt wetter. I've lived in this city for twenty-nine years and I've learned that the only thing rain does is make the shadows longer. They stretch across the pavement like fingers reaching for something they'll never catch. That's New York. That's me. That's Frank. Frank Delaney is my husband. He's forty-two, an editor at the...
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