Behind the Painting
riday morning at Grand Central Terminal. I’m drawing by the ticket booth. Everyone’s trying to get somewhere.
“Two one-way tickets to Poughkeepsie.”
“One ticket to Cold Spring on the Hudson Line.”
“Can you help me? I need to get to New Rochelle, but I’m not coming back ‘til Thursday.”
Some people have already arrived. They pose for pictures and point up at the celestial ceiling.
“There’s the crab. There are the twins.”
“These are the shapes they made from all the stars in the sky.”
“Look up there. They blacked out those windows for air raids during World War II.”
“This must be one of the biggest train stations in the world.”