HARRY

When I was still in college, I used to commute via the Long Island Rail Road. Every morning at the same time, in the same car, I would find this fellow named Harry who worked for the Railroad. Most mornings Harry would lean against the window and sleep. On rear occasions, he would be talkative and relate some interesting insights, not to mention interesting English. Harry had come from his native Sicily, and established very deep roots on Long Island.

Harry was a friend of my Uncle who also worked for the L.I.R.R., and we would all sit together. But for 10 minutes or so, it was Harry and me all by ourselves, before my Uncle climbed aboard the train.

One Monday morning I found Harry awake, and asked him how his weekend was.

Me: Hey Harry how was your weekend?

Harry: Oh, Ima buyer a suit. Ima gotta go to a wedding.

Me: Where did you buy the suit?

Harry: Hoh, I’ma go to a Rabbit Hole.

Me: ????

Me: Where?

Harry: A Rabbit Hole.

I thought about this for a moment and said:

Harry, do you mean Robert Hall, the clothes store at the end of Medford Avenue?

Harry said: Eh, a you say it a hur way, I sayer it a mine.