The cold had enlivened something in me, struck a chord, woke a fear. I don't want to go home. Want to go for nachos? For a beer? You're sure? C'mon! And I'll walk with you wherever else you have to go. No? I didn't get on the subway. I stood outside and watched the mauve rising from the horizon, billowing in the sky as strange possessed clouds lurking over the lights, the noise, the dirt of this city. I lit a cigarette and watched the rush of people move under it, move past it. I stood motionless, my eyes fixed to the sky hoping, asking for it to never go, don't let it pass, don't let it move forward without me. I want to ride it until it's dead, until it bursts and then I want to dance in the dust of its end. Don't let me go home yet. Don't let me turn away from this. A drizzle dampened my face and I sucked on that cigarette like it was my first, like it was my last. Don't let me turn away from this. Don't let me turn away, close my eyes, go blind to life and the ways every moment can expand, can stretch forward beyond the ordinary into something dazzling into a life that is beyond life. Into a reverie. The dream sprung into existence, the dream whispered in my ear, the dream caught in the city air, the dream pinching the candle flame and in the dark I feel you and you hold me near again.