emery’s Reviews > By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept > Status Update

The faces, the faded houses, the autumn air, everything is omens of promise to the prodigal. But leaning against the train window, drunk with the hope which anything so unbegun always instils, I remember my past returnings: keep that vision, I pray, pressing my forehead against the panes:

here is no underlining of an accidental picturesqueness, but a waiting, unself-conscious as the unborn's,