Chapter 41
It’s the sounds I notice first.
In the cab there’s an ad chirping at us for the best, real, genuine, original, authentic pizza in New York, available at seven locations. I suspect there are more adjectives on that pizza than toppings.
The cab stops, and we travel in an elevator that’s slower than Esmé’s birdcage elevator. I thought New Yorkers were meant to be in a hurry. Clearly not the one who designed this contraption.
Samantha’s apartment is on the corner of a building at 95th and Broadway. Large windows fill two sides of the living room and kitchen space. She opens the windows but the price of moving air comes with an invasive volume of car horns barking and Humans shouting.
Out the windows, a canyon between buildings on either side of the street pulls the view down Br
