if he really wants it...

Home, home, home.

A birthday party on the LES. A dark, narrow room. Candlelit faces and low sofas. Coats piled on coats. The air buzzes with possibility. An athletic man, closely shaved head, cute gap-toothed smile. We chat. He buys me a drink. He is a doctor. We talk about the city, about work, about running. He asks how much I run. I tell him, "12-15 miles a week." He says, "A week? I run a half-marathon every Sunday."

When my friend S and I leave, the doctor asks, "You're leaving? Do you have a card or something?" I lie, "No. I didn't bring any...You can get my contact information from K." Though I don't really care, I kind of just want to see if he will.