New York did not care that I had broken a billionaire's heart on a stage.
That was its first kindness.
The cab from the airport smelled like old leather, rain, and someone else's coffee. The driver did not recognize me. Or if he did, he had the decency of people who needed to make rent more than they needed to ask questions.
I watched the city arrive in pieces.
Bridges.
Water.
Glass towers refusing to apologize for themselves.
Windows stacked above windows, each one containing a life no one had optimized for me.
Elena had booked a hotel for two nights.
"Temporary," she said over the phone.
"Everything is temporary."
"That is a dramatic answer for a woman who asked me to find monthly housing."
"I am allowed one dramatic answer per airport."
"Use it wisely."
I almost smiled.
T
