She gets off the bus and stands at the curb. It’s cold but it should be colder. Where Houston is usually loud and Broadway impossible to cross it being Sunday negates both. The new day sun hurts so she turns away wondering again why she even bothers to come to the city. She’s seen all the attractions, eaten as many hot dogs as one can stomach, even made more than a handful of fitful decisions she is both proud of and disgusted with herself over.

After ten seconds of knowing she would rather not stand still, she decides where she is going and moves off toward the East Village. It’s not the same as it was, but like the herbal cigarette she pops in her mouth and lights, it’s better than nothing at all.

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