Golden Streets
I always dreamed of America as a place with golden streets and golden opportunities, well I was right about the opportunity but the streets were far from golden. When papa was finally able to afford me and mamas fare for the boat ride to New York, I found out my beautiful picture of America was all wrong. I swear the letters papa wrote to mama and I in Sicily made this place seem like heaven. But when we pulled up to the dock I saw hell. The streets were full of winos and hookers, but seeing papa for the first time in four years made all that fade away. Papa owned a bakery off Main Street it was definitely on the rise it took a few years but the place was doing very well or so I thought. He was a rough looking man, my father, but a great man he should have been a saint. He was lucky to have my mother she was a saint, and a beautiful one at that. Walking that street even with its horrid smells and disgusting people seemed to be alright with me since I was with my parents. They loved
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