Week's End.

He smiles in his sleep. Mouths unintelligible whispers into the dark room while the night lies apprehensively still around. Peace is a fickle companion, but you will take what you can get and at least they haven't cut the power, yet. Thunder rolls across the New York skyline. Perhaps tomorrow will be cooler. 

She brings the new man to the City for inspection. We drink margaritas and make jokes, traverse the city in difficult questions and silly banter, and I see in her eyes that he means something. Outside approval holds nothing to that. 

Your inner demons lie quiet, in the spaces between, stirring only slightly before returning to rest. Nobody has ever called me a walk in the park before, you hear yourself say. 

But someone has got to be the first.