"In front of the hotel I held my hands to the sides of my head face so I could see into the dimly lighted lobby. There were were the same old brown leather chairs, and the elevator, like a bird cage, with a piece of wood used to keep the door open between trips.The reception desk was where it used to be, but the board with the keys hanging from it had been replaced with more modern slots.
Erik held his hands to the side of his face, the way I did, and peered into the lobby. "You lived here?" he asked, a note of sympathy and disbelief in his voice.
"It was nicer in those days," I said, but as I said it I wondered."
VIA Gypsy, A Memoir By Gypsy Rose Lee
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