CategoryFiction

Penn Station Sunday, 1942

Penn Station Sunday, 1942 Tony Press Henry walked the 40 minutes from his family’s apartment on 72nd Street, the September morning already muggy and warm, and entered at seven-thirty. Penn Station was bustling — when it was not? – but because it was Sunday it was both bustling and calm, if that were possible. The vast hall hosted hundreds of people, some sitting, most standing or walking, and a few running, yet it felt expansive. He’d lived in New York […] Continue Reading

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