13
They walked along 54th St. toward the East River. The day didn’t feel quite so stifling to Max anymore. He appreciated the many trees along the street, but their shade was minimal. He was reminded of another walk along the Long Beach waterfront, hand in hand. But he made no move to repeat that part.
East 54th itself was fairly modest, but the cross streets—5th Avenue, Madison Avenue, Park Avenue—they were names he’d heard even in Russia, speaking as they did of ultimate consumerism, wealth, and luxury. The reality of that would not survive the coming times, but the reputations would last. He no longer ogled the giant bank buildings—he was more interested in the grocery stalls, the gaudily painted food trucks, and the most quintessential of American entrepreneurs: the roadside vendors.
