said as he wrapped the sandwich in wax paper. “I forgot to ask, do you want a sour or a new pickle.”
“I’ll take the sour,” Paul said, putting his jacket on.
Roth handed Paul the sandwich and pointed to the store’s window. “Be careful.”
Paul placed the sandwich into his book bag and ventured back onto the sidewalk. Violent gales rattled the windows. Finding it almost impossible to walk against the wind, he moved from doorway to doorway between blasts. The seven-minute walk turned into a half-hour. Paul skipped going back to Commerce and proceeded straight to the cafeteria located in the student lounge.
Dave waved from a corner near the Coke machine. “My God, you’re going to get pneumonia.”
“I’ve been taking a leisurely stroll through the park, and I decided to take in the sights from a bench near the arch on Fifth Avenue.” Paul put his bag down and carefully removed the wax paper prize.
Dave’s mouth watered as he inhaled the aroma. He looked down at his jelly sandwich. “You wouldn’t consider sharing some of that precious creation with your good buddy?”
“I risked my life for this sandwich. First, you beg me to tutor math, now you beg for my sandwich. This is starting to become a one sided relationship.”
The other members of the table broke out in laughter. Dave turned to a petite brunette to his left. “Sarah Greenbaum, allow me to introduce my best friend Paul Rothstein.”
Paul looked squarely at Dave then pushed his sandwich to the other side of the table. Dave tore off a quarter. “Don’t push your luck old buddy and eat any more of my lunch,” Paul warned as he left to go to the soda machine.
“Paul Rothstein, you’re an ingrate,” Dave yelled.
Paul returned with two ice-cold bottles of Coke, handing one to Sarah. “How come we haven’t met before?” Sarah flirted, dressed in a navy blue skirt and light gray sweater that accentuated her figure.
“The answer is simple, I’m a
putz,”
Paul stammered. Turning serious, he continued, “Chamberlain is in Munich to talk to Hitler again.”
Dave grabbed his copy of the
Times.
“There’s no mention of a trip in today’s paper.”
Paul told them what transpired in Roth’s Deli. The topic of conversation became the grand sellout of the Czech democracy. Their heads were turned by the sound of a crash made by a garbage can slamming into a window.
“Does anyone know what is happening with this storm?” Sarah asked. “This morning, the radio said there was a chance of rain. It looks like we’re having a hurricane.”
“The wind gusts must be 75-100 miles per hour,” Dave said. The rain pounded the windows. “We don’t need anymore water. The paper says we’ve alreadyhad four inches this month.”
“This is Dean Lyman,” broke from the public address system. “A hurricane is moving up the coast. Long Island is going to bear the brunt of the storm before it turns toward New England. Local news is reporting power outages and street flooding. Classes for the remainder of the day are cancelled. Buildings will remain open for both faculty and students if travel is deemed too hazardous.”
Despite the downpour, Paul, Dave and Sarah decided to go home. The subway system was inviolate; it always ran. They made the trek through the park, stepping around tree limbs strewn along the walkways. Water cascaded down the steps to the subway. People climbing up the staircase told them that the tracks were flooded. The trio continued downward, wanting to see for themselves. Three feet of standing water occupied the tracks. The token booth cashier announced the entire system was shut down.
With many of the streets under water, bus service was, for all practical purposes, non-existent. There really was only one choice, return to the student union center and wait out the storm.
The entrance to the center was deserted but for a maintenance man mopping the floor. Wind driven rain had found its way under the double doors and
“I’ll take the sour,” Paul said, putting his jacket on.
Roth handed Paul the sandwich and pointed to the store’s window. “Be careful.”
Paul placed the sandwich into his book bag and ventured back onto the sidewalk. Violent gales rattled the windows. Finding it almost impossible to walk against the wind, he moved from doorway to doorway between blasts. The seven-minute walk turned into a half-hour. Paul skipped going back to Commerce and proceeded straight to the cafeteria located in the student lounge.
Dave waved from a corner near the Coke machine. “My God, you’re going to get pneumonia.”
“I’ve been taking a leisurely stroll through the park, and I decided to take in the sights from a bench near the arch on Fifth Avenue.” Paul put his bag down and carefully removed the wax paper prize.
Dave’s mouth watered as he inhaled the aroma. He looked down at his jelly sandwich. “You wouldn’t consider sharing some of that precious creation with your good buddy?”
“I risked my life for this sandwich. First, you beg me to tutor math, now you beg for my sandwich. This is starting to become a one sided relationship.”
The other members of the table broke out in laughter. Dave turned to a petite brunette to his left. “Sarah Greenbaum, allow me to introduce my best friend Paul Rothstein.”
Paul looked squarely at Dave then pushed his sandwich to the other side of the table. Dave tore off a quarter. “Don’t push your luck old buddy and eat any more of my lunch,” Paul warned as he left to go to the soda machine.
“Paul Rothstein, you’re an ingrate,” Dave yelled.
Paul returned with two ice-cold bottles of Coke, handing one to Sarah. “How come we haven’t met before?” Sarah flirted, dressed in a navy blue skirt and light gray sweater that accentuated her figure.
“The answer is simple, I’m a
putz,”
Paul stammered. Turning serious, he continued, “Chamberlain is in Munich to talk to Hitler again.”
Dave grabbed his copy of the
Times.
“There’s no mention of a trip in today’s paper.”
Paul told them what transpired in Roth’s Deli. The topic of conversation became the grand sellout of the Czech democracy. Their heads were turned by the sound of a crash made by a garbage can slamming into a window.
“Does anyone know what is happening with this storm?” Sarah asked. “This morning, the radio said there was a chance of rain. It looks like we’re having a hurricane.”
“The wind gusts must be 75-100 miles per hour,” Dave said. The rain pounded the windows. “We don’t need anymore water. The paper says we’ve alreadyhad four inches this month.”
“This is Dean Lyman,” broke from the public address system. “A hurricane is moving up the coast. Long Island is going to bear the brunt of the storm before it turns toward New England. Local news is reporting power outages and street flooding. Classes for the remainder of the day are cancelled. Buildings will remain open for both faculty and students if travel is deemed too hazardous.”
Despite the downpour, Paul, Dave and Sarah decided to go home. The subway system was inviolate; it always ran. They made the trek through the park, stepping around tree limbs strewn along the walkways. Water cascaded down the steps to the subway. People climbing up the staircase told them that the tracks were flooded. The trio continued downward, wanting to see for themselves. Three feet of standing water occupied the tracks. The token booth cashier announced the entire system was shut down.
With many of the streets under water, bus service was, for all practical purposes, non-existent. There really was only one choice, return to the student union center and wait out the storm.
The entrance to the center was deserted but for a maintenance man mopping the floor. Wind driven rain had found its way under the double doors and
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