A P R
Time and time again.
A cold Sunday afternoon—even though it was spring time. So unlikely. Just like her way down on Second Avenue—so, extremely improbable. Or was it impulsive?
Up the stairs of the N, R, the radio stopped playing ‘Promicuous Girl’. The D.J. announced they were doing a new game, it was called ‘Are You Smarter Than The Jamaican?’ She couldn’t help but throw a chuckle out in front of that rasta-masta guy hitting his drumset. He stared at her thinking what was up with this city and insanity?
Call it a nerve-wrecking anticipation to an annual meeting, if not. It wasn’t too much to say it was about time. But why the awkwardness? She knew it would be a lovely meeting, a pleasant get-together. Perhaps because she was aware of her so-called great expectation after this reunion. It wouldn’t be so pessimistic to say it could very well be another one-year anniversary of not seeing him. With so much of her anticipation, why the tremulous heart-beating before his very being? She didn’t realize how much she missed him until she gazed into his brown eyes and studied his movements when he took her hand to see his new world.
But she stopped her steps and paused.
“I was trying to forget you.”
“Did you succeed?”
As he was trying to catch her into his arms, she made her abrupt way out. Ciao, baby! She ran and ran, once more.
“Suppose nothing happens to you.
Suppose you live there your whole life and
nothing happens and you never meet anyone
and you never become anything and
finally die one of those New York deaths
where nobody even notices for two weeks
until the smell drifts out into the hallway...”
—When Harry Met Sally
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