If you look at the lamp posts in the park, and you find this number here, you'll always know what street level you're on. Her young voice trembled with excitement as she ran circles around me in the Ramble. New York is hot, again, I recognize its air now when I walk home late at night and it feels like a sweet concession. They offer me a job over margaritas; every day life is a new twist and turn to follow. I booked an airplane ticket yesterday but it didn't leave the usual ripple. The addiction deepens.
She says she'll come as soon as she can. That she will live in my room of teapots and work a dive job and we can spend the nights creating and practicing our tobacco habits. You can't help but think it an inviting idea. You think perhaps it just might be the best way to live a life.
Just look at the lights. You'll always know where you are.
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