New York just wasn’t the same. i remember as a kid everything was grey and brown like the old movies, and my uncle had this 2nd floor walk-up with a single bulb hanging from a wire at the top of the stairs. i remember the night someone dropped a bag of bottles down the steps, and the neighbors yelled and my uncle yelled back and the soft greys and warm browns felt safe and we lounged around in the alleys of the universe. no, New York’s not the same. nothing is. except for maybe that old girl, sorrow. About the Author John Yamrus Since 1970 John Yamrus has published 2 novels and 15 volumes of poetry. More than 900 of his poems have appeared in magazines around the world. Selections of his work have been translated into several languages, most recently, Romanian.