42nd and 8th

She sat naked behind plated glass….phone in hand….making forecasts and promises……she pretended…..I pretended….

Couldn’t resist…… a vagabond…..where was Mecca….?……..  not in Chicago…..nor Cleveland….. D.C…… St. Louis….. never found until the red screen rose at 42nd and 8th….revealing what……revealing her…..just like a hundred other times….

Feeling like Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas, “I knew these people…..these two people….” she did all the talking……  wanted to….but couldn’t…..gun shy? I suppose…..just listening…. listening…… didn’t want to see…..

“Everything became an adventure,” that was the line from the movie, “an adventure…..” maybe it had become an adventure…..the on-going search for a redhead with blue eyes….with innocence….with faith….these are dreams……

It was not her body of loose flesh…nor the Southern drawl of a sweet bourbon voice…..wasn’t the breathless pauses between words….suggestions…. solicitations….can’t say……just magic…..maybe mystic….who knows…..

No….all it was… for a brief moment… was just the comfort of not being alone….

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