From a personal essay published in the online magazine Fanzine:
"I disembark and walk through the near-empty train terminal adjacent to the dock, a place that will be teeming in a few hours with commuters hurrying back to their bedroom communities; but now there are only a few stragglers, and the place has a lazy, dog-days air about it. I walk past train conductors chatting with Pakistani newsstand proprietors, while black women in blue shirts sweep up around the tracks and concrete platforms with longhandled brooms and flat bottom dustpans, and girls in brown smocks stand at coffee counter windows and stare vacantly toward the trains or read those bestsellers where the author’s name is larger than the title. I walk past all these people out into bright sunshine into Hoboken, a city of my past."