We try to dance, but her rhythm is not mine.
I persist: keep dancing, have another drink.
Another drink? I’ve already had two.
She excuses herself and leaves.
I dance until dawn, and at dawn before I sleep, she rises and goes for a ride in the park.
At noon I awake in my Soho loft,
Alone, because she was Uptown and I was not.
June 30, 1998.