Second Ending

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The room was long and furnished with anonymity, a carbon copy of every other furnished room in New York City. There were two oversize windows at the far end of the room, opening on the brownstone front of the building and West Seventy-fourth Street. A long table which served as a desk rested before the windows. The windows were open now, and a mild spring breeze rustled the sheer curtains as he worked. The room owned a bed, and a sofa, and a chintz-covered butterfly chair, and a mantel and fireplace that had been bricked up many years ago. Opposite the windows, the room angled off sharply to enter into a kitchen and an adjoining toilet. There was nothing distinctive about either the room or its furnishings, except perhaps the two college pennants which hung one beneath the other between the long windows — the orange-and-black one from Princeton (the school he’d wanted to attend) and the lavender-and-white one from City College (the school he did attend).

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