Boxed Nights

LOWER east side, 12:40 AM

“These boxed nights are all the same” he said quietly. He waved away the lingering steam from the grill, stepped outside, and lit a cigarette. “The experience, I think, is difficult to describe. Sound travels differently here, has a way of coming up through your feet and out the top of your head. It collects in the ceiling, echoing off the beams. The passage of time can feel skewed. Faces blur and the lives come and go. Everything gets lost in the details…”

 Then there’s a car speeding by and someone’s calling your name.