Two balconies over,
a woman in curlers with a cig hanging from her lips leans out her window—“If he nuts faster than a Mets pitcher, sweetheart, call me. I got nephews.”
Andrew turns, brow cocked. “Ma’am, wit’ all due respect—mind ya business.”
“Respectfully,”she fires back,“If you wanna know if she likes your ass, put your face between her thighs and ask with your tongue.”
“Oh my God,” I say behind my hand,
laughter scratching up my throat.
“Okay, okay Dolores,”
another woman interrupts.
She’s one floor down from Dolores,
wine glass in hand, sun about to crawl up.
“Let’s not traumatize him.
“He’s obviously new at this.”
Andrew’s head jerks back. “Whoa, new?”
“Oh, it’s over for him,”Dolores chimes back in.“My vibrator’s got better game, and it’s from CVS!”
Andrew winces. “Gesù, prendimi adesso…”
The street below groans with garbage trucks,
sirens, and car alarms?—
just another Friday morning in Manhattan.
“This city’s sick in the head,” I mutter.
Andrew drops into his hip, palm up with a half-grin. “This city just wants the release it’s been denied since the Knicks lost in ‘99.”
“Talk dirty louder, we can’t hear you!”
Andrew exhales, eyes dragging back to me.
Then his stare sinks and strips all the noise away,
city fading out,
one balcony at a time,
night erased,
'til it's just us.
“One more kiss, angel. Without it, I’ll die.”
My arms relax at my sides.
“You’ll die, huh? That’s all it takes.”
