A chorus line of tiny flames danced up the side of the log, got a foothold and went to work. A moment later the fire was blazing cozily, our living room no longer resembled a three-sided bus station, and I stopped thinking about Miami, Florida. “There’s no place like New Y...
Its exterior was shabby and beat-up, but there was a hint of somebody’s pride about the place. The windows were clean; they had curtains. The tile floor of the vestibule bore signs of scrubbing. There were no mail boxes or bells in the vestibule. Its inner door was unlocke...