Something about that stranger, leaning against the doors for the entire ride, writing alternating lines in blue pen and in black pen in a tiny notebook, and never messing up, and balancing.
Something about Botox and sweating.
Something about where they keep the carts at night and when it is cold.
Something about this being the block where I lost you.
Something about the bakery staying open for one more holiday’s haul.
When you are finally given an office of your own, and at the end of the first day in your new place, someone asks you how you like it, do not say, “It feels a little bit lonely.”
