It got cold again tonight. I crossed Union Square, late, when the square was quiet, and the wind made my lips quiver. All their voices mixed and melded in my periphery, and I tried desperately to sort them out within me. His saying to choose the safe and straight, to abandon the Wild Dream and leave it to the wolves. Her consistent pleading for me to step out into the New York air and let it breathe through me enough for the both of us.
At the noisy bar -- not our usual, because it was full, but we make do despite the loud noise and lack of wood chip on the floor -- he looks me straight in the eyes and says Just do it. I flinched. Remember why you came here, all these years I've known you, and do that.
The walk home was cold.
The company of the city was warmer, though.
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