Christopher Street
Sheridan Square

I'm back now where this all began, or at least where I think it all began. I go into the same diner again in hopes of seeing David again. I haven't been able to sleep or eat or do much of anything since that day. I recognize the waitress, the place is busy, it's the same time of day exactly a week later in an attempt to rekindle the smolders before the wind blows out the light, a last ditch attempt to make sense of things before it gets me, the light I mean. I sit at the counter again in the same place. A jacket is left hanging on the stool next to me, and I can only hope that it is David's. The bathroom door opens, I look over to see who it is and out comes...

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