A small dog moves into the shoebox on 6th street. She is just the right size for what little floor space you have to spare. Just the right size for the hawks in Tompkins Square Park, a bearded old man reminds you as you pass him on a stoop. A pony arrives at the park and everyone is smiles, but later you learn that someone was stabbed on the corner not 15 minutes later. New York is strange that way.
A friend arrives on a train from the South, months of separation disappear in the returns. The city is loud, and warm, and bubbling, something has returned, or is ready to, or is itching to and all it needs is for you to open the gate.
You stand with your hand fiddling with the lock, considering your options. Wonder if you're ready for what's to come.
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