He gasped awake into the L station, a dejected mess lying on the steps. People skipped down the stairs and around him.
He pulled himself against a railing, rubbing his shoulder.
He startled at the thought of the protesters, but a quick glance at the platform confirmed they were gone.
The last bits of twilight hung in the sky as swaths of navy overtook the Chicago skyline.
As he gathered his leather bag, stretched his perfectly healed body and caught the five forty-eight train, he thought of the woman in the meadows and still tasted her.
“There is something you can do for me,” he remembered her saying as buildings flew past the train window. “But you really should go home first, Atty.”
His stomach churned like the last time he’d had food poisoning.
The rest of the ride home and the w
