Waiting in the overheated monstrosity that is New York Pennsylvania Station for my train back to Boston yesterday, I was remembering the beautiful station that used to exist in this space, before it was torn down in the early 1960s in the name of "progress".
And then I realized that I could be standing in the same space as my mother and father stood, sharing a kiss before he went away to war. And never came back. My mother and his parents were there the day his body came back. To Penn Station.