Fire escapes

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We came to Broadway and Berry Street, and now she had before her for the first time in twenty-five years the old building where she had lived. It was a six-story cubical tenement, with so many fire escapes that it seemed to be faced more with iron than with the red Triassic stone. Anita looked at the building in silence. Usually quick to fill the air with words, she said nothing for long moments. Then she said, “It doesn’t look as bad as it did when I lived here.” She stared on at the building for a while before flexplek huren haarlem speaking again, and when she did speak the nervousness of the morning was completely gone from her voice. “It’s been sandblasted,” she said. “They’ve cleaned it up. They’ve put a new facing on the lower stories, and they’ve sandblasted the whole building. People are wrong. They’re wrong in what they tell me. This place looks cleaner than when I lived here. The whole neighborhood still looks all right. It hasn’t changed. I used to play stickball here in the street. This is my neighborhood. This is the same old neighborhood I grew up in. I’m not afraid of this. I’m getting my confidence up. I’m not afraid.” We moved along slowly from one block to another. A young woman crossed the street in front of us, pushing a baby carriage. “She’s wearing a wig, I promise you,” Anita said. “Her head may be shaved.” Singling out another woman among the heterogeneous people of the neighborhood, she said, “Look. See that woman with the turban? She has her hair covered on flexplek huren amsterdam wtc purpose. They’re Chassidic Jews. Their hair is shaved off or concealed so they will not be attractive to passing men.” There was a passing man with long curls hanging down either side of his head-in compliance with a dictum of the Pentateuch. “Just to be in the streets here is like stepping into the Middle Ages,” Anita said.

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