On a whim I stopped into the Fortune Tellers on Belmont. Before my hand was able to grip the knob you snapped through the door, wiping briny tears from your eyes, shattering my face. Nose broken and bleeding you helped me to my feet. Your apologies were desperate, then pleading, then comforting. You offered to buy me a whisky and cajoled the bartender into giving me an ice pack for my swollen nose. You leaned over the bar just enough, using your crooked smile, brightening his dreary night. We sipped our whisky, mostly in silence, as you rifled through your bag, making sure you hadn't left anything behind. I was enjoying the heat of the bourbon. You were on your way back to Brooklyn, risking a missed flight sitting with me. I mentioned my previous life in Brooklyn- leaving out the bad parts. We sat for a what must have been a minute but it felt like a lifetime. Your eyes wanted to speak and I suppose mine did too. The silence was beautiful. Abruptly you had to leave so I walked you to a cab. I never got your name. As you opened the car door I leaned over and gently asked "What did she say? I mean what did the fortune teller say to make you cry?" You pulled me in close, your whisky tainted lips pressing against my open ear, "COCO"
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