Two oceans and a continent away, static connections and a mild lag before once known lines come into relief. See your own face contort into familiar reactions, hear conversations take the usual turns, shake your head at how nothing changes with the years. Call me later, I'll show you sunrise on the ocean, he says, and you think that the sea could heal any wound within you. I'd send you a ticket, but it always was impossible to get you out of New York.
You hang up and call your dentist.
Remember that you can buy your own goddamn tickets, and maybe it's about time you did.
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