six november
eight : ten p.m.

at first, he told me about his dreams of being a bird, flying over the dirty water. shared his secrets without ever seeing my face or hearing my voice.

we met up at 3am, 8th and market. it was forty-three degrees out. he is six foot five. i am five foot three. we started walking.

six miles. sat down on the waterfront to watch the sun rise up out of the battleship new jersey. reveille at 6am, we were awake before the prisioners, the national guard. and it came, all warm and ripe and beautiful, like he said - slowly and gloriously.

and there are plans. for shivering cold daybreak coffee picnics under blankets, for long drives to faraway cities, for six part stories about real people with fictional lives.

"this should become a routine."