I was standing at the open door holding a packed bag when my daughters caught me.
Through wedge-shaped gap I saw New York rising. I saw ranch houses skewered by skyscrapers and neighbors trampled under millions of feet that rushed down the sidewalk. I inhaled the scent of infinite sweet and sour origins, I felt perpetual motion, I heard peace shattered by the horns of cars and the screams of subway brakes, the cacophony of voices, the jackhammers of change, the ring of freedom, the sound of being.
“Dad—” the voice said.
I rested my forehead on the closed door.