New York wasn’t snowing. Would have been nice if it had been, then I would have remembered New York in white. Instead, it was gray. Not contemporary architectural gray. Not sleek minimalist gray. But muddled gray. Bleak, desolate, forsaken gray. Out of the gray, whatever came into my eyes confused me. Even Ken. Especially Ken. It was like I’d just gone through a time machine and landed in a wrong time and space, even though Ken was here. If the new world had been a puzzle, my landing in New York had been the only piece of the whole puzzle that arrived.
