New Yorker-esque

They say that every generation has a gap. Well, I was born in one: the downtown one on Market Street, to be specific. My mother went into labor while she was inspecting a two-tone blazer for spots, and then she started seeing spots everywhere, and almost went down the easy way before some handy store clerk came to the rescue and held her hand while she lay in the aisle between jumpers and slacks, asking her between contractions, “Are you sure you only want…

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