Irwin Shaw. Knap (№ 413581)

Oh, this New York. You both love and hate him. Everything in him puts pressure on the psyche - both good and bad. An eternal race. Here you rush from the mountain, there your soul rushes somewhere. They practically don't read newspapers here. You forget that somewhere there is a war, people are killing each other in the jungle. In New York, you open the Times, and you feel uncomfortable that you are safe, well fed, sleeping in a soft bed; you start to feel ashamed of your well-being. On the street you look into the faces of people and ask yourself - how do they live with such a feeling?