I think it’s best we part ways, I say. A cab stops. I get in, slam shut, don’t wave goodbye, stare straight ahead.

Can we talk, at least, before you go? you say but I don’t, won’t answer. You can talk to yourself all you want when you get back to Brooklyn. I don’t care. Hell, you have two hands and an imagination plus the internet connection you steal from your landlord two floors down. Cheap motherfucker. You can do all the talking you want till you jerk yourself d…