Poverty is sometimes a great preserver of the past, and I lived in a place little altered since its creation. The narrow planks of the yellow-gold oak floors were original, as were the steamy radiator, and the chute on the back stairs through which garbage plummeted two stories into the big can, and the early, tiny, defunct refrigerator built into the wall on one side of the kitchen, by the sinks, across from the built-in sideboard and glass cabinets that rose to the ceiling. A magnificent old Wedgewood stove presided over the kitchen, creamy white enamel with black trim and a black stovepipe
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