Starbursts blink from streetlights like they’re sharing a secret as I wake to find myself slumped in the back of a cab, without any recollection of how I got here, or where I’m going.
I stare hypnotically out the window as city lights streak by against a blanket of darkness, lulled by the pensive hum of the car radio.
“Not much longer,” the driver murmurs, braking suddenly at a red traffic light. Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror until the traffic light changes and the city slides away in a swirl of neon.
“This tune is for all the insomniacs out there, looking for sleep like it’s a star-crossed lover.” The DJ’s laconic voice disappears under the strum of an acoustic guitar.
We cross the Brooklyn Bridge listening to Paul Simon sing about the moon’s desolate eyes. I look up, above the jagged skyline of the city’s silhouette. There’s no moon in the murky sky tonight. A siren wails ominously in the distance as we cruise through a maze of sleepy streets.
“We’ve arrived.” The driver’s voice breaks through the jumble of my drowsy thoughts.
I pay with a crumpled fifty-dollar bill clutched in my fist and cross the one-way street to the apartment I share with Amy. It’s on the second floor of an old brownstone that’s been transformed into a modern apartment block with a sundeck on the roof.
When I’m at the street door, I realize I don’t have my keys or purse. I rest my forehead wearily against the rough brick wall next to the entrance and reluctantly press the intercom buzzer to wake Amy.
“Come on, Amy. Please be home.”
Leaves fall from half-naked trees like autumnal rain. I do a double take. The leaves are not just an anomaly. They’re an impossibility. Who ever heard of fall leaves in midsummer…
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