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The air is heavy, breathes like cotton, the trains run slow like they feel it. The news continue to pummel your senses, everyone's senses, it's a relentless spin cycle and there's too much detergent in your eyes. I looked into their unknowing, happy faces and tried to remember that there is still joy in sunshine. Reminded him only to really remind myself.

Forest Hills smells like suburbia. It smells like SuperTarget and pear lotion and taking the car. It smells like air freshener in a home without soul, and you want none of it. Take a late train home to the island and breathe easier on its shores. I sat alone in the last train car through midtown and have never felt less lonely. This city holds me, knows me, sees me, and I am all the better for me.

He asked me when I would come home. But I don't understand the question.