It was as if you happened to be walking down the street late at night and you saw the smoke. You're not the type to answer a call, to drop everything and come running. And I was just stepping out onto the fire escape anyway, when I looked down and met your gaze, climbed down the ladder and joined you on the pavement. You offered your hand, almost like a guide.
'I know these roads too,'� I said.
'Care to take a stroll?'�
Amazing how the night feels different under your feet. Garbage cans start to look like urns. Stoops turn into altars, little shrines all over the place, and flower boxes are suddenly offering plates. Concrete is velvet.
Perhaps it is that burning scent in the air that can turn a phone booth into a confessional.
We stepped inside and as I got you to talking I dialed my own number. It somehow didn't matter to me that my phone had probably melted into a heap somewhere in that charred building that had never felt like home anyway, not the kind of place you're meant to stay for very long.
'We can be safe here, at least until daybreak,'� your breath hissed into my neck, into the receiver.
On the other end there was only static. So I dropped the phone, letting it bang against my knee as I skipped a heart beat to meet you in the middle of a kiss.

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