Fucking Times Square

“I thought Times Square was supposed to be gross or something,” she said, as she bummed a cigarette. We were standing on 8th Ave looking down 42nd St at the bright lights, the honking traffic, and the giant billboard advertising Jay-Z’s new album. I shrugged my...

A Whisper at the Station

She was running twenty minutes late. Not enough time for a martini at the Campbell Apartment, not enough time for some Kumamotos at the Oyster Bar, and not really enough time to get my boots shined. But it was enough time to wander the halls of Grand Central looking...