In Bloom

The cherry trees along Bedford avenue are all in bloom, lighting the black night with their white ghosts. I decline a cab, but she drapes his wool cardigan on me before I go. It was too warm for even a sweater this afternoon, but I land sweaty at the L stop again for what use. These hipsters crowd the platform, I miss the dirty tired faces of my Marcy avenue travelers. Oh well, too late to change your mind now. 

New bodies make their way into my peripheral vision, we traverse the Lower East Side happy hour together and weave hour stories as they unravel. In the window of the old factory he asks again, but what do you really do? and I find myself so tired of answering the unanswerable questions that I just ignore them. Again. 

If the truth was ever important, we'd find it. 

Never mind. 

I'll find someone like you.