In Mrs. Giverney’s Teeth
I’d taken my girlfriend on vacation to New York City, to show her places highlighted throughout the many stories she’d heard of my college days. I knew the city better than those born and raised there, I often insisted. “Had you been born into a family fortunate enough to own one of these brownstones,” I was sarcastically informing her as we walked past the famous homes surrounding New York’s Gramercy Park, “you’d have been born with a silver key in your mouth instead of a spoon.”
