This is what I think as I run.

The steps on the south side of Union Square are groggy all winter, soggy with dirty city snow. But spring brings the skater kids, baggy pants and retro-punk. They jump steps, slide down handrails. They'll talk to you if you know what to ask. They'll let me photograph them, if ever I find the time. They keep you company until I get there.

I call you from the north side, from the picture window inside Barnes & Noble. Tell you to sit tight. Face south. Watch the traffic stream down Broadway. Look over at the movie theater's scrolling marquee, and the red neon atop Virgin. I'm coming. Just sit.

You listen, and obey--for a few moments at least. I take my time. You get impatient, look around. I am standing behind a tree. I call you again.

I said, face south.

You look around some more. I can see you. Turn around. Sit down. Wait.

You do as you are told.

I draw closer. I am coming up behind you. You start to turn your head. Don't. Eyes back on Broadway. I keep you on the phone, walk slowly. I am going to come up behind you. Don't worry. It's just me.

I don't want to startle you. It's me.

I bend my knees, put my hand over yours, guide the phone away from your ear. You see my hand, my stacked glass rings, a bit of arm, nothing more. I hit the button to end the call. Stay still. I'm here.


Photo courtesy of aviewoncities.com