Good music and heartbreaks go well together.
Past the corner of my eye on Second Avenue, I see her walking down St. Mark’s Place. Short edgy hair with bangs that cover her right eye. Glitter over her eyelids; for effect or maybe for superficial purposes (either work). I’m across the street, going the other way, but she has the uncanny ability to change my direction.
It’s not following unless she looks back, and I try to hide. Just to be good and fair, I tell myself that I need to go to the fast food Vietnamese place on Avenue A. Yes, that works.
She arrives at Avenue A and takes a right. Goes down a few blocks and stands still. I can’t see clearly because of the deli’s tent, so I keep walking. She’s standing outside a store and looking at something.
Well, then: It’s the Vietnamese place, and she’s looking at the menu. She looks perplexed. She looks confused. Chance to help out?
I get closer, and I hear her humming Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.” Didn’t expect her to know that tune. The melody draws a tangent from her soul to mine. Now, what do I do? What do I do?
Turn to Page 19 if you want to recommend a dish to her.
Turn to Page 68 if you want to compliment her eyes.
Turn to Page 34 if you want to walk on by.