The first two floors of the building housed a parking garage for Central Park carriages and stalls for the horses that pulled them. Kennedy, and about a half-dozen other homeless people were what New York City called “squatters.” That meant they were living rent-free in the vacant floors above a horse stable. And, in case you haven’t noticed, the place doesn’t smell so good, either.” “Maxine-we’re sleeping, uninvited, above a horse stable. “You needed to improvise those bedroom slippers because the floor’s cold every morning. “Need to put on my bedroom slippers here…” He slid his bare feet into shoes he had fashioned out of cardboard and old newspapers. The tall and sturdy black man, his hair flecked with patches of white, creaked out of bed and rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes. Lately, she’d been sleeping in the sweater under a scratchy horse blanket because her so-called bedroom was, just like Mr. Max was wearing a floppy trench coat over her shabby sweater. But you never know when a brainstorm will strike, do you?” “Is it? Sorry about the inconvenient hour. Albert Einstein would’ve called an ‘aha’ moment.”

In fact, I’m better than fine! I’ve got something great here! At least I think it’s something great. She practically burst through his wonky door.

Max took that question as permission to enter Mr. Max rapped her knuckles on a lopsided door hanging off rusty hinges. It was always a bouncing tangle of wild curls. Her red hair, of course, was a bouncing tangle of wild curls. The floorboards-bare planks laid across rough beams-creaked and wobbled with every step. More like a lumpy, water-stained mattress with frayed seams. The stench of horse manure woke Max Einstein with a jolt.Įven though she was shivering, she threw off her blanket and hopped out of bed.

James patterson max einstein