The train moved out. Right away we were crossing the muddy Bronx River, and a woman’s voice came over the speakers saying we were in India, crossing the Ganges. I looked over at Toby and saw he was grinning, and I gave him a nod. “Don’t look out too far,” I said. “It wrecks it.” Greta always looked out too far. She was always the one who would point out the places where you could see the real Bronx through a gap in the trees.
Good going, Greta! Keep raining on everyone's parade.
