ABSTRACT
Our house in Washington was half of one of those two-family buildings divided down the middle. The first thing I noticed was how narrow it was. Although it was four stories high it measured only thirteen feet wide. There were all sorts of tiny rooms and little levels. Actually no room itself was really all of thirteen feet wide at any point, but it was our new home and we went into it cheerfully. Directly next door to us was the Sheridan Square garage. That first night the light from the garage streamed in my bedroom windows. I listened for crickets but heard instead the clanging of tire irons, the laughter and shouting of the men who worked the night shift at the garage, the low voices and occasional singing that came from a Negro family across the street and the occasional sound of guitar strumming and radios blaring in the back.
