A Matter of Time
By: Dr. Cultural Studies
Chapter Seven: 1940
Let not the defeatists tell us that it is too late. It will never be earlier. Tomorrow will be later than today. –Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1940
It seemed surreal. For a moment, I could forget everything to just indulge in the sights and sounds around me. The war seemed so far away that night in November. New York City was on a high, still buzzing with the third-term reelection of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. There were parties and hoopla and circumstance. New York City was filled with energy, pulsing with it as swing music drifted through the streets. Clarinets, drums, and trumpets.
When I was home (in 2015), I never would have thought I would someday cast a vote in the 1940 Presidential Election.
Any history buff would have fainted at the very idea.
I had studied it in a graduate class. I knew some of the quotes from the inaugural address by heart. When I displayed this talent in one class I was teaching, the students laughed and shook their heads. "You memorized that?" they questioned.
Of course I did. It didn't seem all that strange to me, but they just laughed harder.
Supposedly, I had "no life."
My students always thought I was pathetic for how much I knew about the World Wars, about history. Like I had nothing better to do. Perhaps my generally disheveled appearance didn't help matters any. Although I tried to dress well, I always had bags around my eyes and there was almost always an air of nervous energy around me. My hair was never quite in place.
That nervous energy never faded, even in the past.
Even after months in this fictional history, I was still harried. And it was getting worse.
Slowly, I was becoming more and more anxious. My hair was growing frizzier and frizzier from my hands pulling at the strands. The stress of, well, everything kept me terribly edgy at almost all times.
It was only these small pleasures that allowed for my normally racing heart to calm for a few hours.
Voting in the fictional world of Hetalia in the 1940 election? The whole affair seemed even more impossible.
After a while though, reality just…settled. I came to realize that the world I was in was, indeed, real.
And I came to accept it.
I was slowly coming to view the world as an actual "world" rather than a "fictional place." It was no longer something I expected to be awakened from, like some night terror or bought of psychosis. I just accepted my fate as this, as this new reality became my reality.
It reminded me a bit of how I learned to accept that my father was never coming home. That sort of quiet shift into acceptance. Once enough time had passed, it just wasn't strange anymore.
Despite the utter "awesomeness" of the idea, such a concept was difficult to grapple with: entering a foreign world. Even as I thought it over from the dark nights in New York's house, I still couldn't get over the sheer impossibility of what I had gone through. A new world, a new reality, dictated by the rules of fiction. It was horribly familiar and yet terrifyingly foreign.
In the fan fictions I read when I was younger, such things seemed rather easy to grasp.
'Oh? I'm in the world of Hetalia. Huh, well this is cool! Let me go irritate the Nations.'
If not that reaction, then things were a bit more serious: 'How in the world do I get home? Nations of the world unite! Help me find a way home!' 'It looks like I can have some fun with pairings and have sexy-time with the Nations while I'm at it.'
In real life, life just wasn't that…easy.
Honestly, I wished it was. How desperately wished it was!
If it were that easy to accept, then I would have been saved many (really painful) headaches.
And a lot of tears.
A whole lot of tears.
In all honesty, I didn't have much contact with Nations in the five months I had been in "Hetalia." I met Britain and America, yeah. For the first three days of my stay in this world…
Certainly, I saw John Jay Jones. Some. I was his roommate, after all. And he was, by all technicalities, a Nation-esque being. Although I really didn't understand the hierarchy of Nations and States, I knew that there was a difference between the two. It stood to reason, at least.
Still, if we were talking about the actual stars of the show—America, Britain, and the others—then it was safe to say that I had little-to-no contact with them at all. America had visited three times in the past five months. Every time, he would put on this unbelievably happy and carefree façade. He would stay for a day and then leave again.
Personally, I thought that adjusting to the concept of "living in fiction" would be the most difficult aspect of my life.
I'm mature enough to acknowledge that I thought wrong.
Even if I had my doctorate in history, I didn't expect that I would ever have to live it.
Reading about the past in a text book does not compare to actually living the history. Such as the fact that I was extremely well-versed in the gender roles of the 1940s. Although it was not the topic of my dissertation, it was the focus of a good doctoral student friend of mine, who spent hours telling me of the sufferings women had to deal with in the time period. That information was useful, given my situation.
Funny how little irritations such as Lisa's obsessive spouting of gender studies had become a part of my everyday life.
Wearing dresses or skirts every day?
Stockings and hose every day?
Heels every day?
Thank the Good Lord I didn't have to wear make-up or I would've snapped within the first few weeks.
Though, my boss had told me that if I "dolled-up" I could earn some extra dough. Wretch.
In 2015, I didn't mind wearing a skirt every now and then. When I felt like it. When I wanted to be feminine and maybe a little flirty. Same went for tights or heels.
In 1940, it was considered reprehensible for a woman to be wearing pants outside of the factories. It was also considered lewd if a woman strutted around without the proper stockings or the proper shoes.
Even such a small thing as fashion was a huge issue to contend with. I was used to jeans and t-shirts and bare skin. I was used to tank tops and short shorts. I was used to a different world.
"You're really self-conscious, aren't you?" John questioned.
Turning on my patent-leather heel, I glanced toward the young man—or old State (what have you). He grinned, gesturing toward my suit. His brow rose and he chuckled at my uncomfortable expression. The gray suit was looser than when I first donned it in June.
Food hadn't been appealing for months and I only ate what I had to. Brushing a hand down the front, I jerked down on the jacket hem. "Not self-conscious," I shook my head and looked ahead in the line.
He shifted by my side, "Is that why you keep straightening your jacket like that? First time to the picture show, doll face?"
"In this decade? Yes." I muttered in a low tone. The line continued forward.
So many people. We were lucky to get a seat on opening night. My gaze flashed to the various faces around me. The crowd was giddy and exuberant. Despite the chill in the November air, the bright lights and smiling faces made the atmosphere seem warmer and charged with energy. A few women were giggling several feet away while their men laughed loudly. They were clearly a little tipsy from their earlier evening escapades.
"It's a good thing I know a few people," John stated with a smirk. "I could've never gotten these tickets if I didn't know…Well, if I didn't know important people." He chuckled amusedly, looking around at his citizens. It seemed to ease his tension somewhat to see such vibrant energy. "Nice what they're doing, huh? Helping out the Brits like this."
My head nodded. I never knew that Disney had donated all of the proceeds from opening night to support the British War Relief Fund. It was one of those forgotten facts, lost during the hectic future events.
Britain was being bombed almost daily; terrorist attacks against civilian-populated towns and villages. Largely, it was London, but also Southhampton and Manchester. All over Britain.
That was the whole reason I wanted to attend the premier of Fantasia.
As soon as I knew that money would be going to Britain (to Arthur) I knew I had to go.
If for no other reason than to support him.
It just so happened that John had arrived home that very night with tickets to the premier citing his 'friends in high places.' Tickets had been notorious for selling out.
"Are you excited?"
I turned to him and forced a smile, "Of course. I'm very excited. Thank you for this."
His lips pressed together and he ran a hand through his blond hair. There was a moment of consideration before he sighed, "You're not excited. If you were, you'd be giggling like those girls over there."
My eyes flickered over to the obnoxiously laughing young women. He expected me to behave like them? They were obviously debutantes, hair all done up in pin curls and cleanly pressed dresses with beautiful fur coats. Their heels were clacking on the concrete with every shift in their stances as they leaned into their upstanding dates.
He expected me to be like that?
I pressed my lips together and gave a shuddering giggle. My head shook.
"You're not exactly a doll, are ya?"
I didn't know what to say to that except: "No. I'm not."
Chuckling again at my disgusted expression, the personification of New York leaned against the wall of the theater building. Soon the doors would open, but until then we were stationary. "So you're not the pretty dame you keep pretending to be. Color me surprised. I thought you were all mild manners and good upbringing."
My hackles rose at that jab. I was perfectly well-raised. My mother and family did perfectly fine with my upbringing. Making a dig like that was like saying that my family was of bad stock. My back straightened and I glared at him. "Excuse me?"
He gestured around at the various beautiful examples of the mid-century. "All of these girls are happy to smile and giggle and fawn over their dates. You're just scowling at the pavement and muttering under your breath about your clothes."
How the hell could he compare me to these girls?
There was no comparison.
They were gorgeous, stunning images of the upper-class 1940s society I had always imagined from the black and white photographs of the time. Fur coats and done-up hair. Their make-up was painted on with an undeniable precision— red lips, pale faces. They held themselves as ladies of their ilk should: straight back and proud shoulders.
They giggled because they could. They had that ability and that freedom.
They didn't have any weights holding them down, blissfully unaware. Perhaps who was loving who and how they would nab the man of their dreams. Those were major concerns.
They didn't worry yet over whether or not their man would go to war. Or if they would make it one day or if they would somehow attend college.
These were all stereotypes I knew, but the stereotypes of the time existed for a reason.
Me?
It was like comparing diamonds and rocks. They were shining gems and I was just a stone.
My shoulders were hunched over and I kept my eyes on the ground most of the time. Why? Because it was easier than looking ahead. It was easier than engaging anyone in conversation. Conversations led to questions that I couldn't answer.
'Where're you from? Where were you educated? Where's your family?' I didn't pay attention, in one ear and out the other.
The comforts of familiarity had disappeared with my world and I was now in an unfamiliar place and with that came an ever-waning confidence. The only times that I held some self-worth was in front of my students and even then I was uneasy.
Up until this point, too, John had paid little attention to me. My newness had worn off after the first couple weeks and after that I was left on my own.
I worked for a living. I didn't indulge in high priced items, even back when I was making a decent wage. My money went to food and some basic necessities.
For the months of my residence in New York, he had not eaten with me, arriving home late at night from wherever he was in the city. Parties, work? Sometimes I tried to figure out what he had been doing, but eventually I gave up and just lived (was it really living?) my own life separate from New York's.
There was a war happening all around, people dying every second. People suffering due to my refusal to talk and give information. That kind of knowledge brought a lingering darkness to my heart and mind that I could not escape. It followed me everywhere, hovering in the hollowness of my eyes and the darkness of any shadows.
That sort of weight bore down on a person and it grew heavier every single day.
The weight was neigh unbearable.
How could I act like those girls?
I wasn't those girls.
I could and would never be those girls.
Mostly because I was a woman and not some giggling, fawning child.
And my hands were stained red. Blood red.
And I didn't belong here.
"We're not the same," I stated clearly. My arms crossed over my chest and I ignored the heat behind my eyes. "You're forgetting me, John. Who I am. I'm not just some dame from New York with a pretty brooch and a mink stole."
His mouth opened, but he said nothing. I looked upward toward the sky. A few stars could be seen in the blackness beyond the lights. Those stars would disappear within ten years' time with bigger and brighter lights. Taller and taller buildings.
"I have bigger things to worry about than trying to wriggle my way into your bed and a diamond ring on my finger. I'm not looking to have a good time or to party it up or to find a good husband. I'm not here to giggle or to flirt or to even see a movie. I'm here because-because-"
"Because you have no choice," John supplied.
Letting out a breath, I turned my gaze back to him and saw the brightness of understanding in his eyes. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I am grateful, beyond anything you can ever imagine."
He shrugged, "Doesn't change the fact that you're right. You're not here because you want to be. You're here because there's no other choice."
"If I was going to end up somewhere, I'm glad it was here."
Sort of.
John smirked, "New York City is the best place to be in the entire world. Of course you're glad to be here."
That wasn't necessarily the 'here' I was referring to, but if I had noticed anything about New York's stereotype representation (besides his Brooklyn accent) it was his arrogance concerning New York City. "Right," I forced a smile.
The line started to move then and I sighed, turning to start moving. In the process, my arm was grabbed and I was held still. Gasping at the sudden contact, I was surprised to find that John was holding me back from continuing with the line. The people around us slowly disappeared, paying no attention to the woman that was being gripped by the casually leaning man.
Was this a New York City thing or a 1940 thing? Or a human thing? Ignoring that kind of action?
"We'll be late," I gestured toward the door.
He pursed his lips, "Your wrist is thinner."
I made to jerk my wrist away, but his grip became tighter.
"You haven't been eating, have you?" At my silence, he cursed. "Damn it, Michelle! Alfred put you in my care and you haven't been eating. What have you been thinking?"
What a dangerous question to ask me.
Being virtually alone in the fictional past for the past five months didn't have a positive effect on my mentality. How could I eat when I knew that there were so many people suffering? Death camps were starting their terrible purpose soon to solve what Hitler called the "Jewish problem." Britain was being pummeled by the German blitzkrieg. Italy was invading various places and it was only a matter of time before even worse things happened.
All because of my silence.
I could stop these things. I knew I could. Couldn't I? But that could change the future. It would change the future. What if the wrong things changed and the Axis powers won? It was a risk I didn't want to take. I couldn't take that chance.
Panic was welling up in my chest.
Not to mention the terrible working conditions of my job. I wasn't used to being at the bottom of the food chain. Hell, I wasn't even part of the food chain. Now it wasn't just my professional inexperience, but my gender as well.
If it wasn't for my coworkers, I would have already been placed into some cases of harassment I wasn't quite ready to deal with yet. My boss was a slime ball and the other teachers quickly pulled me into their fold of protection. We watched each other to keep each other safe from the unwanted advances.
I wasn't strong enough for any of this.
I wasn't and I knew I wasn't.
I missed my family. My friends. My life.
John's grip on my arm slackened and my hand fell to my side, clutching at the hem of my skirt. "Michelle?"
"D-Do you know what it's like?" My chin was quivering, but I struggled to maintain my control. There was no way I would lose my composure. Not here. Not with him. Never. I was strong. I lifted my chin and continued with a thick voice. "My family. I miss them so much. Every single day. At least I have the comfort of knowing that they are probably okay. Are they though? I-Is my mother still alive or did she die in a sudden car accident? Was my sister's baby born? Did she die in childbirth? What about Corey? Was he killed in action? I don't know! I'm not there! I'm here and I'm…I'm alone."
Once again, New York opened his mouth and then shut it again. He didn't know how to respond. In his long history, I guessed that no one had travelled through time before. Wars, he had seen his share and other various terrible things, but he didn't know how to comfort one upset woman on his street.
Even if I knew he couldn't do a damn thing to help, I continued.
"And knowing the future!" My voice dropped to a whisper. "It's torture. It's torture to know something, to know what will happen, to know that lives are on the line, and to ignore those things for what you consider the 'greater good.' It rips you apart." It makes sleep impossible. Makes you see blood on your hands. It makes you split at the seams.
"Why do you keep silent then?"
It was a question that I knew he had been dying to ask me.
"If one thing changes," I breathed out, "the entire outcome of the war could change." Blood was on my hands, I could see it for a few seconds before it went away again. It was an image that came into my mind every so often. "I told him…I told Arthur that their blood was on my hands. And it is. I…Everything is my fault."
"It is not!"
My head shot up and I stared at the personification. He looked affronted.
"This stupid war is not your fault, Michelle. You didn't make Germany attack Poland or France or any of the others." John scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I know that won't change your thoughts on this, but I don't hold you responsible and I'd pummel anyone who did. Knowing the future doesn't make you responsible for it."
He charged forward and rested a hand on my cheek. I stared at him with wide eyes. It was the first contact I'd had with anyone in almost six months, since Alfred had left.
"As for being alone," he muttered. "I didn't mean to do that to you. Leaving you alone in that place like that…I should've thought that through a bit more."
"I'm a grown woman," I argued. "I can take care of—"
"Yourself," he nodded. "I know you can. You've done great so far, sweetheart. You've managed to keep yourself fed and clothed and even managed to leave leftovers on the counter for me whenever I decide to show up. Frankly, Alfred put you in my care and I blew it."
"You didn't! I'm-I'm being immature and selfish! I can't expect you to stop your life for me! This is…This—This is me being selfish."
John J. Jones snorted a laugh and placed his forehead onto mine. I started to jerk back, but he held both of my cheeks in place. "I don't think you're selfish. You're alone in another time, eighty years separate from everything you've ever known. You've been dropped into the middle of a war.
"Your knowledge separates you from everyone. You don't know the culture here because, ultimately, the culture's different from when you were born and raised. You're a woman in a man's world when you're pretty much used to be a woman in an equal world. You're educated beyond your station and treated like a pariah for it so you have to hide your knowledge for fear of being treated like an outcast.
"You're no longer your own person. You're dictated to. Your worth is determined by the men that you know. Although you know some good men, like Al and me, we haven't done jack shit to help you adjust.
"That's not to mention that you have guilt overriding every other feeling. So much so that you've been spending a third of your weekly earnings to send letters to Ig—to Arthur in a show of silent support."
How did he know about that? I had been extremely secretive regarding that particular facet of my life. He couldn't have possibly known unless…I was being followed. Anger welled up within my chest at that prospect. At the same time, I should have guessed as much. My irritation flitted away on the November wind. How could I truly be angry when I might have done the same? "You've been spying on me."
"Only at first," John shrugged as if it were nothing. "It was a precaution, but you are no longer under surveillance. I know you keep sending letters because you spend some of your earnings on stationary each month. That's where the off-white paper for the grocery list comes from." His arms crossed over his chest. "There has never been a response so I'm assuming that he doesn't know who's sending the letters."
Of course I didn't put a name! That would just add insult to injury. Arthur would likely view it as my rubbing my forward knowledge in his face as his people are killed. No, silent (anonymous) support seemed the much smarter option.
"You're trying so hard and yet you're stuck in neutral. There's nowhere you can go but to remain here until the war ends. And the people that you came to trust abandoned you on the doorstep of a man that had better things to do."
When he put it like that, I felt my nose starting to prickle and my eyes filled with tears. "I'm pathetic. Why can't I just be…"
"Strong?"
"Yeah," I sighed.
He chuckled and pulled back, thumbing away the tears on my face. "You know there's a great woman I know…of. She once said that women are like teabags. They don't know their own strength until in hot water." The corners of my lips pulled up a bit. Eleanor Roosevelt, wife of our newly reelected president. "I'd say you're in some pretty warm water right now. And crying doesn't make you weak, neither does being alone or saying that you're pathetic. Strength is in the way you react when true strength is required of you. Until then, you are simply living."
"Simply living?"
He nodded and smiled broadly, "That's right. Simply living requires some strength, it also requires some hardship. It's the same in all times of history, I think. We experience the daily torments of loneliness, poor self-image, little dramas that seem overwhelming." He seemed to interpret my shift as a negative reaction. "I'm not saying that your troubles are little. They're real and they're important, but…they're not unfixable.
"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, doll face. I got so caught up in myself…You know, I'm not used to having someone depending on me. Generally, I've been pretty free to do as I please, but I should have thought about you. Arriving home to an empty house must have been hard. After a while of returning to an empty home, you grow used to it. I did. I left you on your own because that's what I'm used to."
"You didn't—"
"I did," John hushed me. "I pretty much ignored that you were there. I shouldn't have done that. I can get easily distracted by things." With all of his lights and shows and events, of course he did. I had thought of that before. New York was a free spirit at heart.
"I'm able to take care of myself." I didn't want to interrupt his life. He had enough going on without having to worry about me.
"I know, but you shouldn't have to be alone. And you won't be." He held out an arm for me to take and grinned in my direction. "You can take care of yourself perfectly fine, but there's no harm in making me realize and acknowledge just how lonely you've been. Downplay it all you want, but I know it's true. I can see it in those tears. You're not crying because you're weak or because you're overworked. You're crying because you've been so lonely that you can't stand it and you're only now allowing anyone to know."
I was lonely.
Only now could I really, truly see it.
How long had this ache been in my chest?
Five months.
No, I couldn't lose it like this!
I was pulling apart, unable to take the realization of how lonesome I was.
Five months.
I missed my life.
Teaching my classes, college and not the high school students I was currently instructing.
Home.
Kansas City: the low-rolling hills, the jazz on every corner, the excellent barbeque.
Nashville: the mountains, the country music, the extended family get-togethers on holidays.
The technology: cellphones, computers, the internet, good television, and so many other advancements.
The relative peace of the future.
Racial equality, gender equality, movement toward sexual orientation equality.
Progressiveness.
I missed home.
My Mom, Donna, and Corey. My grandparents.
I missed my friends: Lisa, Coraline, Darcy, Hyo-yeon, Jack, Reece, Kristy, Ricky, William. Alicia, the best officemate a professor could ask for. I missed everyone. Even the students that ignored me every single day in class. The ones that texted on their phones and the ones that giggled behind their hands. I missed their familiarity in this foreign world.
New York stared at me, watching as I continued to curve my body inward. I was trying to hide my face in my hands, leaning forward. My thoughts of the busy street fled away. People were likely gawking at the crazy woman bawling on the corner of Broadway.
Arms wrapped around my shoulders and I was pulled to a strong chest. Initially, I pushed against his hold. It had been too shocking and too intimate. I hadn't been hugged for five months. "Let go for once, Michelle."
My head shook as I buried my face in his shoulder. The weave of his jacket was course from the wool. "I—I can't. I can't. I don't want to."
One of his hands rubbed comforting circles into my back and I felt my walls crumbling. "From this moment, you've got me. You do. I promise you, Michelle Daniels. I promise and I'm a man of my word." His hug grew tighter. "God, I'm so sorry, doll face. I should've known."
"D-Don't apologize! Please don't! You've got…other things to worry about."
"We're going in circles here," he chuckled. "Just shut up and accept me as a permanent figure in your life now, okay? Things will go so much easier if you just accept that I'm now taking on the position of 'honorary brother.' That's a pretty awesome honor for you! I'm the coolest dude in New York—"
My tears abated somewhat at his declaration both for the sheer gravity of what he was saying and the fact that he was New York. Of course he was the coolest of himself. It made me wonder if he knew that he sounded conceited. My guess was that he thought he was being clever.
"And that's it. Stop crying. Crying never gets anyone anywhere; it just makes them feel better. Are ya feeling any better now that you've got all that pent up emotion out?"
My head nodded and I pulled away, brushing at my wet eyes. A handkerchief came out of nowhere, held to me by the personification. "I-I'm sorry that I lost it."
"No big deal," he crossed his arms behind his head nonchalantly. "Isn't like I've never seen someone lose it before."
Letting out a hollow laugh, I bobbed my head. My still-wet eyes glanced toward the shut doors of the theater. "John," he looked to me, "we're late for the show."
John shrugged, "Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter? These tickets must've cost a fortune!"
He waved me off, "You really just wanted the money to go to Britain, right?"
Uneasily, I nodded.
"Think of it as giving to charity and not wasting money. Besides, I'm not in the mood for a picture show tonight anyway. We'll go another time." Deep blue eyes sparkled in the lights of Broadway. "Oh, and call me 'Johnny.' That's what my brothers and sisters call me."
"Johnny," I tried and smiled. "It'll take some getting used to."
He smirked, throwing an arm over my shoulder and I ignored my discomfort. We continued to move down the street, ignoring the looks of disdain thrown at us from the occasional 'upper crust' aristocrats. Such closeness was frowned upon. "Now, I say that we go get some pie. I need to take you to Dino's before Al checks in. He'll throw a fit if you haven't tried their pizza."
"Alfred is coming soon?"
"He's back from his mission."
Shock rippled through me.
That was why America had been absent, even though he had made numerous promises to come by and visit. He had been deployed on a mission.
My mind flashed to the scenes in the anime.
Of course. The meetings. That explained some of it. And it also showed that there was far more going on behind the scenes of the actual anime and manga.
Johnny continued through the streets, dragging me along. "Al said that he hopes you're doing well. He's been worried about you." The young man's voice sounded regretful. "I never relayed his messages…"
So Alfred had been making contact. Johnny was just never around to convey that his 'brother' was communicating. Although I was irritated at New York's apparent inability to pass along messages, I was grateful to know that Alfred had not forgotten me.
"You're mad," Johnny laughed. "I'll remember that your left eye twitches when you're pissed."
"What did he say?" I wasn't going to rise to New York's bait.
The blond gave a half-hearted shrug. "Said something about staying safe, keeping the secret, that he'd be home for Thanksgiving, and that he's sorry for just leaving you with me. In hindsight, he probably should've left you with Tommy-boy. The hick's better at taking care of people. Well, kinda. If he isn't off making his moonshine." When he saw my raised eyebrows, John Jay laughed. "Tommy's my brother. He lives in Tennessee. Seeing that you're from there, Tennessee might have been the better choice."
"I thought there was no better place than New York?"
"HA!" the personification cackled. Now I could certainly see the family resemblance between Alfred and John. "That's right! There's no better place than the Empire State! Take that, THOMAS FREAKIN' WILLIAM JONES! Your girl thinks I'm damn WONDERFUL! WHO'S THE 'STUPID YANK' NOW, HUH?"
Thomas William Jones. Tennessee personified, I guessed. If his reaction was anything to go by, Tennessee and New York were competitive for some reason or other. Likely due to the Civil War.
Noticing that I was watching his whole tirade, New York straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. With a grin he straightened his fedora. "Not that I have anything against Tommy-boy. Not at all. Old news, ya know? I don't have anything against that hick." And that mannerism- running a hand over his face- looked an awful lot like a certain Brit.
"Right," I nodded and gestured toward the street corner. "Isn't that Dino's over there?"
And we walked on.
