"[His] mind went back to the first few years after the war and to a crumbling block of Bethune Street, in that part of New York where the gentle western edge of the Village flakes off into a silent waterfront warehouses, where the salt breeze of evening and the deep river horns of night enrich the air with a promise voyages."
~Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
(photo via curbed)

"[His] mind went back to the first few years after the war and to a crumbling block of Bethune Street, in that part of New York where the gentle western edge of the Village flakes off into a silent waterfront warehouses, where the salt breeze of evening and the deep river horns of night enrich the air with a promise voyages."

~Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

(photo via curbed)

"In 1940 they moved back to the city, and the place Pookie found for them was no ordinary apartment: it was a once-grand shabby old "floor through" on the south side of Washington Square, with big windows facing the park. It cost more than Pookie could afford, but she scrimped on other expenses; they bought no new clothes and ate a great deal of spaghetti. The kitchen and bathroom fixtures were rusty antiques, but the ceilings were uncommonly high and visitors never failed to remark that the place had "character". It was on the ground floor, which meant that passengers on the double-decked Fifth Avenue buses could peer into it as they made their circuit of the park on the way uptown, and there seemed to be a certain amount of flair in this for Pookie"
~Richard Yates, The Easter Parade
(photo: Fifth Avenue Bus, Washington Square, Manhattan. (October 21, 1936) by Berenice Abbott)

"In 1940 they moved back to the city, and the place Pookie found for them was no ordinary apartment: it was a once-grand shabby old "floor through" on the south side of Washington Square, with big windows facing the park. It cost more than Pookie could afford, but she scrimped on other expenses; they bought no new clothes and ate a great deal of spaghetti. The kitchen and bathroom fixtures were rusty antiques, but the ceilings were uncommonly high and visitors never failed to remark that the place had "character". It was on the ground floor, which meant that passengers on the double-decked Fifth Avenue buses could peer into it as they made their circuit of the park on the way uptown, and there seemed to be a certain amount of flair in this for Pookie"

~Richard Yates, The Easter Parade

(photo: Fifth Avenue Bus, Washington Square, Manhattan. (October 21, 1936) by Berenice Abbott)

"Ordinarily, the fact of someone’s coming from New York might have held a certain prestige, for to most of the children the city was an awesome, adult place that swallowed up their fathers every day, and which they themselves were permitted to visit only rarely, in their best clothes, as a treat. But anyone could see at a glance that Vincent Sabella had nothing whatever to do with skyscrapers. Even if you could ignore his tangled black hair and gray skin, his clothes would have given away: absurdly new corduroys, absurdly old sneakers and a yellow sweatshirt, much too small with the shredded remains of a Mickey Mouse design stamped on its chest. Clearly, he was from the part of New York that you had to pass through on the train to Grand Central—the part where people hung bedding over their windowsills and leaned out on it all day in a trance of boredom, and where you got vistas of straight, deep streets, one after another, all alike in the clutter of their sidewalks, and all swarming with gray boys at playing some desperate kind of ball game."
~ Richard Yates, Doctor Jack-0’-Lantern from his collection of short stories, Eleven Kinds of Loneliness
(pic © Rebecca Lepkoff)

"Ordinarily, the fact of someone’s coming from New York might have held a certain prestige, for to most of the children the city was an awesome, adult place that swallowed up their fathers every day, and which they themselves were permitted to visit only rarely, in their best clothes, as a treat. But anyone could see at a glance that Vincent Sabella had nothing whatever to do with skyscrapers. Even if you could ignore his tangled black hair and gray skin, his clothes would have given away: absurdly new corduroys, absurdly old sneakers and a yellow sweatshirt, much too small with the shredded remains of a Mickey Mouse design stamped on its chest. Clearly, he was from the part of New York that you had to pass through on the train to Grand Central—the part where people hung bedding over their windowsills and leaned out on it all day in a trance of boredom, and where you got vistas of straight, deep streets, one after another, all alike in the clutter of their sidewalks, and all swarming with gray boys at playing some desperate kind of ball game."

~ Richard Yates, Doctor Jack-0’-Lantern from his collection of short stories, Eleven Kinds of Loneliness

(pic © Rebecca Lepkoff)