Broadway

He sat across and talked about a tribe, how the people looked Irish. The music was high. He ordered wine, looking like a tiger.

Dessert was almond cake, espresso. They talked about the origins of friendships. She asked what it was like to live in Brooklyn.

He said, “I have a tree now.”

He walked her to the corner. People on patios drank beer and wine and cocktails. Women wore bright sandals and men had loosened up their neckties. The streetlights went from green to red and yellow more than once. His teeth were red from the wine, and people hailed for taxis. He pointed and he told her to go that way.

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Union Station

She went to a cafe, where she read and wrote some. She’d gone to see a bird show, a short play called The Wire, stayed late at a jazz club, went shopping at a soap place, where the smell had made her eyes water.

This cafe was bigger. The ones at home were Spot and the Aroma, and here there was a Think one.

She sat on something vintage. A latte was a latte and the music was loud again, the people. A man in grey looked in her direction, and a lady with dark glasses said stop.

She’d ordered a beet salad, wrote postcards to her family. When she plugged in her computer, the man in grey asked if he could share her.

She plugged him in. He asked how was the salad. He asked what she was. He was an attorney, a chemist, and was writing a book.

After closing, they walked to the station. He was Greek, like the last one. Before they parted, he programmed her number in his cellphone. She stood there with her phone, still surprised, when it gave her the vibration.

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Queens

He was hairy and Greek, like a man who was history. This one had gone to the store the night before, on the way back from the subway. She’d told him she liked butter on toast, and now they ate pita bread with walnuts. When she first met him days before, he said he studied cancer She wasn’t from there. He was old. They drank beer and beer and more beer.

She ate the bread, looking at the wine and wine and beer things. His place smelled rotten. In his bathroom, his toilet was disgusting. He’d taken her there, from many transfers on the subway. He had a garage, with a sidewalk. She remembered walking, her suitcase behind her. One thing led to one thing to the bedroom. When she woke up, he apologised, said he’d lacked at his performance. She went to clean her teeth, and he peed there, next to her, while she used his toothbrush. He stood there with his penis. She’d said to him no thank you. He’d told her that he loved her. He said he had proof.