conversation with a stranger

she purposefully walks into the familiar bodega. walks to the back. and draws a solitary beer from its pack. she approaches the counter. and as brevin rings the purchase, he knowingly slides it into a paper bag - the neck of the bottle barely peeking from the rim. and, with his gentle smile, he nods slightly to the bottle opener lingering by the magazine rack.

with her brown bag in toe, she pulls her way up the 6 flights of her building. opens the door that has illegally remained ajar for at least a year. she steps onto the roof.

and she breathes.

perched on the edge of the rooftop, there are no barriers to protect her from the streets below. the rooftop across the way. the neighbors nestled in their own homes.

and the cityscape is . . . magnificent. brilliant.

as if a child has been playing with blocks and haphazhardly plopped them here and there. gathering various shapes to create dynamic and contrasting building tops to scrape the sky. stringing christmas lights for color.

"how am i going to do this?" she wonders aloud.

"do what?" she asks in return.

"honestly . . . all of it . . . " there's so much to her question she's not sure how to answer.

she crosses her legs, sitting indian style. pensively looks across the skyline and continues by answering ambiguously, " . . . be here. or not be here. . . . i want to be in it and out of it at the same time . . . the only other time i've felt that way was with an abusive boyfriend . . ."