Page 507 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“I wanna keep drivin’ with you.”

// 4:32 AM //

Andrew pulls up to Rockefeller Lookout, the Firebird’s nose pointing at the stone edge, where four hundred feet below us, the Hudson’s a sheet of black glass.

Soon as he kills the headlights,

the Parkway disappears behind us,

while New York shines in front of us,

the skyline burning bright.

It’s not the same city I live inside,

the one that smells like weed and piss.

This one feels far away,

untouchable. Magical.

Manhattan, a wall of golden glitter.

The George Washington Bridge hangs to our right, beads of lights strung across the dark over the river.

Andrew cuts the V8,

and the heater gives one last warm sigh.

Then even that goes.

Until he twists the key backward,

clicking the ignition into accessory.

He pulls a cassette out of the center console, opens the case, and pops it in.

The Firebird eats the tape,

and a riff fades through the speakers.

I side-eye him. “Oh, so fuckin’ smooth.”

He tosses the case back into the console.

“Little Aerosmith for my girl.”

We sit in the dark.

Andrew and me.

Seeing New York from Jersey.

He leans back, head against the backrest.

“You know what’s stupid?” he says, eyes on the windshield. “In the beginning, after that night at Type, I’d come to this spot after work sometimes. Sit right here and swear I could feel you.” He huffs a small laugh, then shrugs. “That maybe if I stared at the city long enough, it’d tell me where the hell you went.”

After a few beats of silence pass,