I ran across the dusty, gravel-covered yard towards the house, my long strides hastening the approach. I grabbed the old, wooden banister and hopped up onto the first of three narrow steps. The boards creaked, weary from the countless feet that have trod over them before me. I bounded across the weather-worn porch, hesitating only briefly to peer through the screened door, at the activity inside the house. Crossing the porch, I dropped with a sigh onto the wooden swing. Suspended from the roof by two rusting metal chains, the swing swayed from side to side as I relaxed against it. Almost without thinking, I began to push my feet ahead along the porch, then skip them back, righting the swing’s drift. After a few minutes, I lifted my feet onto the swing as the motion continued. I gazed aimlessly before me. This is happiness. This is summer.
We had been walking for about forty-five minutes, making our way from Manhattan’s South Street Seaport to the Macy’s flagship store on 34th Street. When we were within fifteen blocks of our destination, some of my companions decided that we should complete our journey by cab. Despite my attempts to convince them to keep walking, they were insistent. The trip that ensued was a true New York experience. After a few minutes of trying, one of my companions was able to hail a cab. However, we wanted to go north. The cab that stopped was going south. It did not seem to matter, though, as my companions still got in the cab. One person sat in the front while I slipped into the backseat, between the other two. Hardly before the doors could close, the driver had fought his way into Manhattan traffic. Without warning, he took a sharp right turn onto a side street and began to head north, steadily increasing his speed. Within seconds, the cab was weaving a...
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