Baby Blue

Grand Central Station late on a Thursday packs up and winds down. The floor of the great hall quiet, a moment's rest before the commuting hoards return. We stood whispering in corners, stealing moments in transit while the city looked on, benevolent. Summer returns and you are caught unawares; they say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. But you have known this city long enough to know that it doesn't follow rules, doesn't subscribe to convention. If the city wants to give you gifts, it will.

You've known the city long enough to know, that if it gives you gifts, you'll do best to take them.