She's a cute little peanut, slouched in her stroller. Disgruntled, squirmy, delighted, and peaceful in turns.
Our conversation is a lazy river that turns into Class IV rapids.
Rot has crept into every petal. Rotting roses smell like potatoes.
Near Times Square, an animated display of M&Ms attracts the kids. They run to the cloudburst of candies, the shower of colorful sugar.
She doesn't want to use the steps at first. They're slippery and lead to a path smeared with mud. But the view is worth it for her: A stone bridge, a pond that doesn't bare all its secrets but asks you to follow it as it curves out of sight.
As I head north, they catch up to me at each crosswalk. When I veer west, they give up their pursuit.
This time we meet at a Dunkin' Donuts the size of a pocket. She raises the coffee to her nose, lowers it without taking a sip, and describes the wreckage of her life.