An unknown friend of a friend said he could hear me, but there were only broken words from his end. He came through again and said, “Tell me things.” And seeing no harm and loving what I could hear of the energy in his voice, I told him I loved the smell of cut grass. How when it rained, I loved the moon for waiting. How I wanted to believe every detour led me to him in this moment. How I still want some days to return whole as they had been when love didn’t know any endings. I asked if he was still there and “there” was silence. Then I heard the words, “Meet me…Joe’s on West 57th now.” Then I read on my cell that the call had ended in some way. I wanted to go. I wanted to believe in these kinds of things…that love, that chance, that strangers, that romance…could work. I changed direction and crossed Madison heading west hailing a cab to take me toward something I didn’t know and didn’t want to stop like viewing clouds from above where love, where strangers, where even he and I wouldn’t know rain.