We walk up from the Lower East Side to catch the L train because my car is parked two stops into Brooklyn. I'm not staying there, but when I found it with a broken window, and the buck-fifty from my ashtray missing, I just moved it up to Williamsburg- I didn't know what else to do and somehow that seemed sensible.
And all along it's funny, how we are trading off talking about ourselves, and we aren't talking about the same things on the surface, but underneath - all the "What the fuck?" and "How the hell?" - you couldn't tell it apart if you tried.
And my guitar is getting heavy, and the snow is starting to come, and I ask, "Are you sure you want to walk all this way in heels?," and she is looking for some boy that used to be there, and I'm looking for a feeling, or a crowd, or a thousand bucks or something - I can't quite figure it out - that used to be there, and "What are we doing?," and I'm thinking about the half a sandwich in my backpack that I'm going to eat when I get to the car, with the radio off, and my jacket and hat and scarf still on, and how I'm going to stare out through the windshield as little piles of snow collect and I realize that I've been staring for way too long and haven't really looked.
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