You know the feeling you get on a Friday after work ends? I had that feeling when I got on a Metro North train headed home after a long week.
I picked the middle seat in a three-seat row. Just before the train pulled out, a man sat down next to me and gave me a mean look.
“You know,” he said, “you shouldn’t be sitting in the middle seat.”
The implication was that I should have taken the window seat to allow more room for others.
The comment made me angry, and I was about to respond to his rudeness but it was Friday. And I had to admit that he had a point. So I moved over to the window seat and offered him a handshake and an apology.
He scowled as he shook my hand.
After 45 minutes of reading and listening to music, I arrived at my station. As I got up to leave, the man who had chided me offered me his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was my fault. You did nothing wrong.”
— Win Sakdinan
It was a Monday night in June 1953. I was at the Martin Beck Theater, now the Al Hirschfeld, where Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible” was struggling to survive.
The play was ostensibly about the Salem witch trials, but I suspected that it was also about another witch hunt that was going on at the time involving people accused of writing the wrong scripts, subscribing to the wrong publications, marching in the wrong parades, attending the wrong rallies or supporting the wrong causes.
Afterward, I waited for Arthur Kennedy, who played the doomed John Proctor. He obliged with an autograph, and then asked if I was a “college kid.”
I said I was.
“I guess you understood it,” he said.
— Bernard F. Dick
I got on the subway on a rainy day. I was carrying a purse, a backpack and a wet umbrella.
I sat down and put my umbrella on the floor where it wouldn’t drip on me or on the seat next to me. Then I stacked my bags on my lap where they would stay clean and dry and wouldn’t get in anyone else’s way.
A woman sitting across from me gave me a quizzical look.
“Is that your umbrella?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you put it on the floor?”
I looked down at my bags, positioned compactly so as not to stretch beyond the limits of my legs, with the zippers turned toward me where no pickpockets could reach my valuables.
I glanced at the other riders in search of alternative umbrella-storage strategies.
I’ve honed my subway etiquette practically to perfection. Not once did I ever consider the comfort of an item whose sole purpose is to capture rain and muck for my protection.
Where should I have put my umbrella instead? It’s been more than three years and I still haven’t figured it out.
— Andrea Grody
I was walking along Fifth Avenue to my office one day and I stopped to chat with a sidewalk bookseller.
I asked him if he had a copy of “Lonesome Dove.” My daughter was studying for her doctorate in classics at Boston University at the time. There’s a cattle company sign written in Latin mentioned in the book, and I thought it would be clever of me to get her a copy as a gift.
“No,” he snapped. “Don’t have it.”
Months later, I walked by the same bookseller. His inventory appeared to have grown. I asked again whether he had a copy of “Lonesome Dove.”
“No!” he yelled. “I don’t have ‘Lonesome Dove,’ and I’ll never have ‘Lonesome Dove.’”
— Gerard Florence
I was standing in a scraggly line of Upper West Siders at the MetroCard Van on Broadway between 85th and 86th Street. We had our IDs in hand, ready to prove that we were, or were about to be, senior citizens and entitled to coveted half-price MetroCards.
Some of us had gone gray; others had too but were doing what they could not to let it show. A few people were leaning on canes; others, dressed in workout gear, were stretching and talking on cellphones.
It was a cranky group at first, until we realized we had all been born within a month of one another in 1953.
When it was my turn at the window, the man behind the counter held up a camera to take a picture to go with my card.
“If that crowd doesn’t move, they’ll all be in your shot,” he said. “It’s your choice.”
I turned to urge the people behind me to move. But then I thought of us all being babies at the same time.
We all were 7 when four African-American students sat at a Woolworth’s lunch counter in Greensboro, N.C., in February 1960. We all were 10 when we sat in front of the television as our parents cried after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963. We all were nearing 16 when the first man walked on the moon in July 1969.
“It’s O.K. if they’re in the picture,” I said. “We’re old friends.”
— Patty Dann
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
【欧】【洲】【宫】【廷】。 【慕】【心】【的】【肚】【子】【已】【经】【高】【高】【隆】【起】，【六】【个】【月】【的】【身】【孕】，【肚】【子】【更】【是】【大】【了】【一】【圈】。 【今】【天】，【她】【穿】【着】【喜】【庆】【的】【红】【裙】，【看】【着】【她】【也】【明】【艳】【动】【人】。 【向】【修】【寒】【的】【微】【博】，【她】【是】【看】【了】【又】【看】，【然】【后】【忍】【不】【住】【的】【笑】【着】。 【世】【界】【上】，【大】【概】【也】【就】【她】【这】【么】【一】【个】【怪】【人】【了】。 【看】【到】【跟】【自】【己】【相】【爱】【的】【老】【公】，【发】【了】***【的】【微】【博】，【也】【能】【笑】【半】【天】。 【她】【轻】【抚】【高】【耸】
【高】【台】【上】【的】【战】【斗】【很】【精】【彩】，【精】【彩】【到】【离】【得】【太】【近】【的】【贵】【族】【们】【全】【都】【遭】【了】【秧】。 【大】【公】【级】【别】【的】【强】【者】【之】【战】，【不】【是】【他】【们】【能】【够】【围】【观】【的】，【所】【以】【除】【了】【一】【些】【罗】【侯】【级】【别】【的】【下】【属】，【大】【部】【分】【的】【贵】【族】【都】【尸】【骨】【无】【存】【了】。 【与】【【王】】【的】【战】【斗】，【肯】【定】【是】【要】【拿】【出】【全】【力】【的】，7【位】【大】【公】【联】【手】【之】【下】，【勉】【强】【压】【制】【住】【了】【肖】【恩】。 【他】【们】【其】【实】【都】【很】【好】【奇】【为】【什】【么】【自】【己】【还】【能】【活】【到】【现】【在】。
【薛】【进】【准】【备】【好】【了】【所】【有】【的】【材】【料】！ 【然】【后】，【他】【没】【有】【留】【在】【夏】【府】【里】，【而】【是】【去】【了】【郊】【外】，【准】【备】【开】【辟】【一】【个】【安】【静】【的】【地】【方】，【进】【行】【一】【次】【觉】【醒】。 【这】【是】【来】【阿】【曼】【达】【大】【陆】【的】【第】【一】【次】【觉】【醒】，【所】【有】【他】【很】【慎】【重】，【也】【有】【些】【期】【待】！ 【石】【灵】【自】【然】【是】【作】【为】【护】【法】。 【另】【一】【边】，【薛】【进】【把】【自】【己】【的】c【级】【能】【量】【药】【剂】【全】【给】【了】【若】【汐】，【对】【她】【说】【道】：“【现】【在】【的】【当】【务】【之】【急】，【是】【尽】【可】【能】【地】2009铁算盘诗句【月】【明】【星】【稀】，【领】【头】【的】【黑】【衣】【人】【连】【续】【打】【了】【几】【个】【手】【势】，【接】【着】【其】【他】【黑】【衣】【人】【冲】【进】【了】【金】【旗】【门】【弟】【子】【的】【卧】【房】。 【一】【场】【大】【战】【一】【触】【即】【发】，【吴】【芳】【在】【墙】【头】【屏】【气】【凝】【神】，【密】【切】【关】【注】【着】【金】【旗】【门】【内】【的】【情】【况】。 【啊】，【啊】，【啊】…… 【伴】【随】【着】【几】【声】【惨】【叫】，【有】【几】【个】【黑】【衣】【人】【从】【卧】【房】【里】【倒】【飞】【出】【来】，【他】【们】【中】【了】【金】【旗】【门】【的】【暗】【箭】。 【原】【来】【每】【个】【卧】【房】【之】【中】【设】【计】【了】【三】【把】【自】【动】【弩】，
“【可】【以】！”【梧】【欢】【突】【然】【冷】【下】【脸】，【认】【真】【的】【看】【着】【逆】【寒】：“【三】【是】【我】【休】【了】【你】！” 【逆】【寒】【的】【笑】【容】【渐】【渐】【凝】【固】“【欢】【儿】【你】【别】【这】【样】【嘛】。【一】【点】【都】【不】【好】【玩】。【我】【告】【诉】【你】【实】【话】【还】【不】【行】【嘛】！” “【那】【你】【快】【说】！”【梧】【欢】【懒】【得】【废】【话】【多】【说】，【只】【想】【知】【道】【是】【不】【是】【自】【己】【哪】【个】【环】【节】【出】【了】【错】？【还】【是】【给】【他】【放】【错】【了】？ 【逆】【寒】【在】【梧】【欢】【的】【额】【头】【上】【亲】【了】【一】【下】，【才】【开】【始】【讲】【到】：“【你】【个】
【三】【天】【过】【后】，【罗】【兰】【花】【光】【了】【自】【己】【的】【所】【有】【积】【蓄】，【在】【寒】【鸦】【堡】【郊】【外】【买】【了】【块】【空】【地】，【位】【子】【偏】【僻】，【空】【地】【上】【堆】【积】【地】【各】【种】【材】【料】，【沙】【石】【木】【块】，【就】【这】【么】【裸】【露】【着】，【外】【面】【简】【单】【围】【了】【一】【圈】【木】【质】【围】【栏】。 【罗】【兰】【并】【不】【担】【心】【有】【人】【前】【来】【偷】【窃】，【这】【些】【材】【料】【不】【但】【笨】【重】【而】【且】【还】【不】【值】【钱】。【再】【则】【罗】【兰】【已】【经】【提】【取】【了】【它】【们】【的】【信】【息】【因】【子】，【这】【些】【材】【料】【对】【罗】【兰】【可】【谓】【可】【有】【可】【无】【了】。 【而】【此】
“【当】【一】【个】【人】【的】【身】【体】【与】【魔】【能】【紧】【密】【结】【合】【时】，【不】【仅】【意】【味】【着】【她】【获】【得】【了】【更】【好】【的】【天】【赋】，【也】【必】【须】【承】【担】【相】【应】【的】【后】【果】。” 【坐】【在】【教】【室】【里】【的】【老】【学】【生】【们】【早】【已】【知】【道】【这】【个】“【后】【果】”【是】【什】【么】，【他】【们】【只】【是】【不】【明】【白】【院】【长】【为】【什】【么】【提】【起】【这】【个】。 【无】【论】【什】【么】【血】【脉】【开】【发】【必】【须】【在】【十】【五】【岁】【之】【后】，【人】【类】【的】【血】【脉】【在】【这】【段】【时】【间】【开】【始】【潜】【力】【逐】【渐】【生】【长】，【而】【其】【他】【异】【类】【血】【脉】【则】【度】【过】【最】【危】