Picture Dictionary & Books : Free for English Learner!

"Holy cats! Can't I walk out of here on a holiday without going through the third degree? What am I, some kind of a nut or a convict?"

"Just a growing boy," says Pop.

"And don't talk so sassy to your mother."

"I'm talking to you!"

Pop draws in a breath to start bellowing, but Mom beats him to it by starting to wheeze, which she can do without drawing breath.

Pop pats her on the shoulder and gives me a dirty look.

"Now, Agnes, that's all right. I'm not sore. I was just trying to kid him a little bit, and he flies off the handle."

I fly off the handle! How do you like that?

I give Mom a kiss.

"Cheer up, Mom. I won't ride on the roller coaster. It's not even running."

I grab a sweater and gloves and money and get out before they can start anymore questions.

On the subway I start wondering if Mary will show up.

It's almost two months since we made this sort of crazy date, and the weather sure isn't helping any.

Coney Island is made to be crowded and noisy.

All the billboards scream at you, as if they had to get your attention.

So when the place is empty, it looks like the whole thing was a freak or an accident.

It's sure empty today.

There's practically no one on the street in the five or six blocks from the subway station to the aquarium.

But it's not quiet.

There are a few places open—merry-go-rounds and hot-dog shops—and tinny little trickles of music come out of them, but the big noise is the wind.

All the signs are swinging and screeching.

Rubbish cans blow over and their tops clang and bang rolling down the street.

The wind makes a whistling noise all by itself.

I lean into the wind and walk up the empty street.

My sweater is about as warm as a sieve.