Page 500 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

My hand falls to my side.

“Shut the fuck up right now!”

I bend forward, eyes still wide.

“You rented a FIREBIRD?”

Andrew’s smile breaks open,

that cocky, Jersey-boy slant,

and he pushes off the car,

pocketing his phone.

“Ours for the night, angel.”

I stare at him.

Then at the car.

Then back at him.

“Are you fucking KIDDIN’ ME?”

I jump right into him,

my boots leaving the ground,

arms around his neck.

He catches me,

hands under my thighs,

staggering back against the Firebird,

laughing into my mouth

before I kiss him.

And then he melts.

“Madonn’, baby,” he rasps out. “That good, huh?”

The Firebird growls through Midtown until Rockefeller Center’s behind us.

The city transforms block by block.

Christmas windows become locked doors.

Tourists become smokers outside bars.

The pretty skin of Manhattan peels off,

and underneath is the honest shit⁠—

scaffolding, steam,