8
From 42nd Street we drove past Grand Central Station and then headed south. Manhattan, as evening came, was lit up, the neon signs giving the streets a festive appearance. Light-flooded Park Avenue shone with its shop displays and mirrors, the countless windows everywhere like stars. We saw the mansard-roofed towers of the Waldorf Astoria lit from below, the towering Pan Am Building that resembled the waves of the sea. We saw a forest of rooftops that floated in the reddening light of the sunset and reached for the golden clouds.
The car had hardly moved from its parking place when the colonel began his story. I listened to him attentively as we glided along the streets, as if the image and the sound – the view out the window and the colonel’s voice – merged into one. If I want to reca
