Word: cold
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...cold January morning, no time for a self-respecting resident of The Hague to be on the streets, and the desk sergeant at police headquarters was baffled by the middle-aged Chinese, clad in pajamas and raincoat, who stood before him. From the mixture of broken Dutch and poor English, the problem resolved itself: the man was Liao Ho-shu, 46, interim chief of Communist China's mission in The Netherlands, and he wanted police protection. After some delay, he was turned over to the Dutch BVD (security police), who whisked him off for interrogation at a spacious, secluded...
...LONG lonely sound of the Long Island Railroad came aching down and down the track. Floral Park, Long Island was covered, silent and pure. The lost women, bundled mysteriously in snowsuits and galoshes, slipped, slithered, splashed, cursed and fell into the cold new-sprung fantasies of Long Island slush. They called to us, those strong silent people of this frontier town as they crouched proud and good against the creeping creeps of Queens. They called to us through the black ladened skies. "Get out of town. Cut your hair." Strange, and lonely, their cry. Floral Park, Long Island, I long...
...delicatessen, in the fire station, among the hoots of the boy scout troops lost on an outing, in the deep sad faces of the traffic cop, we longed for you New England, even for your snow with your different quiet, and different peace, and acceptance of these mysteries of cold and ice. The Long Island Expressway writhes in disbelief--it seems impossible that stupid dumb precipitation, which doesn't know Anybody, has no connections, has never worked its way up, could come between it and the City, the Life, the Important Things. But you, New England, you somehow recognize...
...THEN it comes, the tin-horned train on the fairground tracks, tinkling its way into Floral Park. It stops dark and cold to take on its suspicious passengers. Its blackened windows laugh at our stupid obedience, as we wordlessly without question surrender, to let it take us where it will, to whatever nefarious tunnel in the cold earth's lung...
Tiny fires grin wicked along the rails, warming and warning our route to hell, as conductors swing easy and rough through the doors of their cars. Flashes of cold blue lightning slap at the buildings on either side of the tracks and the lights in the car are sick and jaundiced and keep trying...