That brief moment on the way home tonight, the air changed. Crisp, not like an air conditioner, but like a different desire.
On the first night like this, I miss the passion Florence walked with, a sweater and scarf readied for new times.
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Autumn In New York
The Lights Of Autumn
Another Walk To Hope: Part II
Sunday Memories: When A Picture Is Like A Song
Sunday Memories: "Not Coney. Coney Island."
