The drive didn’t matter.
It was never a question.
Mickey’s hunched behind the desk,
nursing his coffee.
I stop and tap Mickey’s desk,
my stunned eyes glued to the glass doors.
“Yo. Is that Drew, or am I imaginin’ him?”
Mickey doesn’t glance up from his computer,
laughing under his breath.
“That’s your boy.”
I nod,
then keep walking,
until I’m pushing open the door.
The cold takes a swing at me.
I barely feel it as I stand frozen.
Andrew lifts his chin,
holding my gaze.
Then he pushes his back off the car,
standing taller.
“Five minutes, Sonny,” he says.
“Don’t get greedy.”
His breath clouds the air between us.
Behind him’s the hum of traffic,
empty streets,
gold lights.
Then he squints. “Also, fair warning—I been up like twenty-three hours, and I might be hallucinating this whole thing, so if you’re actually a mailbox right now, I’m gonna be real fuckin’ embarrassed.”
And then he grins, slow and tired.
But I can’t move.
“You’re… here.”
I’m staring right at him,
