the sort that makes your pupils dilate.
He’s the sort of character that makes your pupils dilate. My black hole gaze is tracing the shift of his shoulders and sway of his hips as his expression of nearness rapidly unveils. Perched on my Bleeker Street stoop I’m pretending not to see him, even though I’ve been sitting here waiting for 37 minutes. That makes me 17 minutes early and him 20 minutes late. If I hadn’t patiently passed 29 years in quiet confidence that childhood...