listening to old Modern Lovers album on the hi-fi, singing “It’s so good to see stars, I thought we’d lost them.” A brief introduction, a handshake. Because it’s not 8 o’clock, but I thought of you. Having spent the summer taking snapshots. Because it’s not Boston, New York, Chicago, or Pittsburgh, but Buffalo. The letters had stopped coming. The black dress, our first meeting. Waiting for a telephone call, something, silence. I should have left you alone. Hearing someone else mention your name. Because tomorrow you would be gone, driving West, the road that stretches the length of summer. The small reminders, better times. Chicago. Trinkets & Souvenirs: whiskey, records, photobooth snapshots, Gurski exhibit at MoCA. Cross-town bus after taking a transfer from the El. Driving overnight filled with anticipation & anxiety. Sitting among strangers, I saw you. Holding hands, sweaty palms. I saw you on the streetcorner, on the phone. Introduction to friends, people I will never know. Having returned from a month in France with family. The oppressive summer heat, catching our breath, 3 a.m. A month there and how your face looked older, more beautiful than I last recalled. Buying newspapers, drinking coffee, and you smoking. It had been such a hot summer. Mornings with possibility, a hopefulness never before felt. We drank too much whiskey. Unnerving gaze, striking me down. Because I had bought a new shade of lipstick for the occasion, it was a special night. Catching every movement, every word forming on your lips. Remembered the smell, the sweat, the salt of your skin. That rooftop, late in the night, city silenced, starry & desolate. Darkened by the month of French sunlight. Arm around my waist, pulled close. The crease, wrinkles, folds of your white t-shit. Dirty fire escape, broken bottles, shabby blades of grass, sitting, silence. Seeing me to the door, putting me in a cab that night before my plane took off. Trees swaying, small summer breeze. Pittsburgh. Folding napkins, voice cracking under pressure, speaking softly. Last words, when you said to me “I’ll be right back.” Wondering where, which city tonight & with whom. Because I left before you had the chance to return. Not counting on my own insignificance. Because I wasn’t taking any chances this time. Because you had already been absent too long.