I run run run down the stairs and into the subway, wrapping my scarf tight about me and hurrying out of the bitter cold when I see him tonight, all dapper and handsome in his tuxedo, shirt crisp and starched and oh so white against black. He strides towards me and away from the train, perhaps an E, perhaps a V, maybe from one stop away at Rockefeller, maybe from all the way downtown somewhere. I pass him, and he glances at me. I glance back. His head freshly shaven, his hands clenched in purposeful fists as he strides away in his shiny shiny shoes. He turns around once, twice, three times. I know because I turn around once, twice, three times too. We stare at each other as we stride away, each towards a destination, each turning and glancing and turning and glancing. I begin the steps down to the platform, one two three, and I turn once more to glance at him. He has stopped. He has stopped and is staring and smiling as I go down the stairs, and I continue along, four five six, and then I pause to look once more but then suddenly he isn't there. The handsome man in the brand new tux who glanced and smiled and danced with me with his sparkling blue eyes tonight, just as quickly and unexpectedly as he had entered my life, is suddenly and abruptly gone.
