A Birdhouse
In Brooklyn

By Linda Danz

Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old only by deserting their ideals. Years wrinkle the face, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-interest, fear, despair—these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust. —Watterson Lowe

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Behind the Scenes of: 
A BIRDHOUSE IN BROOKLYN

Lucy’s father had been a subway traveler. Workbag in hand, he inhaled one of many morning Chesterfields while treading a subway platform in Astoria. If he had to, he’d step beween the cars for one last drag before he got to his stop. The shop was on east 34th Street in Manhattan. It was a cramped loft space, up one flight, in a five-story brick tenement, where he bent over a cluttered worktable splashed with shards of gold leaf, attending to the delicate labor of restoring antiques. The shop, or rather the memory of it, was somewhere inside of a multiplex cinema beneath a towering block of luxury apartments. 

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