When I was a child, back in the dark ages as my children say, we had friends named Edith and Ray who lived in a Brooklyn apartment. We would visit them often, and then they moved to Queens. We went to see them for the first time in their new home, and we were sitting there talking shortly after we got there. Suddenly everyone’s mouths were moving, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying.
That’s because they had moved to Jamaica and were directly under the approach path for planes landing at Idylwild Airport, which is now called JFK.
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