RUSLAN
Her knee has been bouncing for as long as we’ve been on the road. I’m curious to see how long she can keep up the anxious momentum while she’s stuck in New York City gridlock.
As it turns out: the whole damn time.
We turn onto 48th. That’s when her leg finally stops pistoning up and down. Now, she looks like she’s barely breathing. I catch a glimpse of her face as she slides out—she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and her cheeks are pale.
Not exactly the enthusiasm I was anticipating.
She stays as far away from me in the elevator as possible. I start to wonder if she’s just nervous or if she’s still pissed about our little spat earlier. I’d half-expected her to back out of our meeting today, but apparently, giving me the cold shoulder is her preferred method of punishment.
