The mass of people that shuffled through Penn Station amazed her. They all seemed to be in a hurry. Goldie tried to stop a few people to ask for some directions, but they ignored her. The residents of New York were mean, and some downright nasty. To her they all seemed to have a chip on their shoulder, an attitude. She could relate to the New York state of mind. Native New Yorkers had to adopt certain mannerisms in order to survive. The Big Apple that out-of-towners saw on TV was not the place they knew. The city was cruel, so they had to be crueler. Every day brought the possibility of a new threat, and every stranger was potentially dangerous.

After a few frustrating hours, Goldie finally devised a plan. She bought a city paper and looked in the classified section for furnished rooms for rent. It didn’t matter to her what part of the city she stayed in, since she’d never been here anyway. The cheapest room she could find determined where she would rest her head. She came across an ad for a furnished room in Mount Vernon. That’s where she was headed; only problem was how she was going to get there.

“Excuse me, officer,” she said, stopping a Port Authority cop. “I’m a little lost. See, I’m not from New York. I’m here visiting some relatives … And they were supposed to meet me here, and they’re nowhere to be found … I was wondering, can you tell me how ta get ta Mount Vernon? How much would it cost me to go by cab?”

Mount Vernon was a section of Westchester County, which was located at the northernmost tip of the borough of The Bronx. At certain points, a city block was all that separated the two.

“Miss, I wouldn’t suggest that you take a cab from downtown Manhattan way up to Mount Vernon. That’ll cost you a pretty penny. Do you know how far that is?” he stated. “If I were you, and I couldn’t get in contact with any friends or family, I’d take the number two train, north. Ride it to the last stop. That’ll take you to 242nd Street. From there, you can walk a few blocks to Mount Vernon or catch a cab. You’re right there.”

“Where do I find dis … number two train?” she asked innocently. “And how much does it cost?”

“Walk down this corridor,” the policeman began. “Make a sharp left. Keep walkin’ straight and you’ll run right into it. And it only costs two dollars … One thing about New York, the subway runs all night long. And it’ll take you to or near anywhere you wanna go in the five boroughs … Remember that … Or else you’ll spend a fortune on cabs … Cabdrivers are rip-off artists. Somebody like you, who doesn’t know the city, they’ll take on the scenic route …”