poetry within

The interior was unprosperous and bare;
the only car visible,
was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford,
which crouched in a dim corner.
It had occurred to me,
that this shadow of a garage must be a blind;
 and that sumptuous,
and romantic apartments were concealed overhead.
when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office,
wiping his hands on a piece of waste.
He was a blond,
spiritless man,
anaemic, and faintly handsome. 
When he saw us,
a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.
(Fitzgerald 29)