“Got any spare change, man?” Too cold to even stick a hand out of a greasy parka sleeve, hunched against the wind. Snowing today, thick, piling down and Don is on his way to meet her, her simple ‘yes’ on the phone an hour ago in his mind like red manicured nails against a pale silk blouse, a perfect ripe raspberry on a dab of whipped creme. On his way and this aparation out of the alley, “I’m trying to get a hotel room for the night.”

Don doesn’t even bother to feel his pockets, he has just stopped at the ATM, knows he’s only got a twenty in his pocket, carefully extracted against a monthly budget that’s pretty well blown. He would, he might, he could, this guy looking like all the others, beard gone teeth gone, shivering, or maybe staggering, this guy looking just like he did back then could really use a hotel, something, the wind is brutal.

It is Valentine’s day and Don is not sure at all if Sandy was thinking of this when they were
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