Amherst Massachusetts

Boulder Colorado drinks a margarita outside on the patio. He walks to
Pearl Street and finds a spot on the pavement to watch a street performer.
People in dreadlocks, playing guitars, ask him if he can spare a smile as
he passes them by. Baskets with notes that say, "For music school," sit
in front of young girls who are playing the violin.

Boulder Colorado checks his watch as he realizes that Tucson Arizona
probably won't show up. He waits outside the pizza joint before going
to a phone booth. Tucson Arizona answers the phone out of breath. She
talks closely into the telephone and Boulder Colorado imagines her
pale skin and the way her shirt thins to her body, and says, it would have
been nice if you had called.

She slips the phone off her fingers and wraps her body in a towel before
getting dressed to meet New York City. New York City is always up late,
they shop on Fourth Ave, and even when the stores are closed the streets
are open. It's Downtown Saturday Night and New York City is dancing.

He pulls Tucson Arizona to his chest, his arms are on her lower back, his
hands feeling the slender of her hips. Amherst Massachusetts is reading the
newspaper when she looks out and notices Tucson Arizona's slim body
dancing between the trees. She thinks about New York City's cinnamon
breath and raw cologne.

Amherst Massachusetts wraps her brown thick hair up in a wool hat, her
neck in a scarf. She lets the roads take her home, following the leaves as
they fall to the silence of the street. She places her hands on her hips and
feels the roundness the year has brought them.

Amherst Massachusetts thinks about New York City and the charm he has
with women, she thinks about Tucson Arizona and the way she lets men
play on her body like sunlight. She knows they are dancing the
night away and won't be home anytime soon.

--Jaimee Kuperman