Biiiig Fat Fuckin chunks of snow coming down hard. Typa snow to make you call your mommy—I love you! I’m sorry about everything I’ve ever said. Okay whatever, just look outside, won’t you, you frreeak.
Kai and I pass by one of those Street Screens and the redundancy makes us laugh: “It’s Snowing” it says in Big Letters as we’re getting walloped in the face with these huge cotton ball things.
He’s got these too-cheesy white cheddar cheetos that are really much too cheesy, and I’m eating them fistfuls at a time. He can’t stop saying goddamn look at that one every time a particularly rambunctious fella comes on down.
It’s snowing and I look at him and he looks so sweet with all the white in his hair. It’s snowing and we almost get into a physical altercation. I want to beat the shit out of him, the same way I always want to bite into a baby or a dog.
Look at me. What a time I’m having. When I think this, I realize with an ah shit feeling in my sternum, that it doesn’t really work—I’m still back in Times Square when you couldn’t believe how fat the chunks were, when we were walking so fast to the train because we were late, and even so, I couldn’t help but grab you by the arm and spin you around and kiss you under the scaffolding and you scolded me but not before breaking out into that smile, that smile, those good strong teeth, and right now, I could get on a train and stand in the exact spot, even though I no longer remember where we were going or why the hell we were in Times Square and it kills me that it doesn’t really work, but remember, I’m getting there, I’m gonna get there, soon.