my life to live

On nights like this, the city wears on you and you wear your city. You wear it like a wool pullover, rain-damp on the outside and sweat-damp on the inside and tugging all over because it no longer quite fits. The dumpsters baking in the sun and wafting their scent as you pass went from unnoticeable to offensive, and offensive to intolerable. Your apartment transformed from an aerie to a garret. Your commute to work gets longer and more arduous every day.

All the buildings; they look the same.

All the faces; they look the same.

All the days, months years; they are the same.

All the corners of the earth pull at you tonight, tugging gently at your sleeves and your cuffs. Tonight, you want the shawl of another city’s evening fog laying gently about your shoulders. Tonight, you want the silent lights and weighty monuments of another glittering city spread out like jewelry at your fingertips. Tonight, you want to stand in the shadow of skyscrapers and have the clean chill of a lakeshore for shoes.

A Name, A Place

He picks up the phone and hears her voice.

“It was him,” she says. “He’s back.”

He shifts his weight to the other foot, and lets his hip buckle against the chair. A pause. And then: “I’ll meet you at the diner.”

“I’m already there.” She hangs up.

He stares at the phone for a few seconds, letting the dial tone’s hum blend in with the rain pattering at the window; always the rain. Then he wraps a jacket around his slouched frame. He hurriedly makes his way down the four flights of stairs, through the dimly-lit foyer, and out into the steady downpour.