Some places in the world you get killed for being human outside the lines of man-made bullshit.
But here on East 23rd Street, it is the touch between two who walk the walk towards an end that, along with taxes, is guaranteed.
It is the touch between me and the Mariner, whether we are home or whether we are enjoying rare moments together.
It is molecular intimacy grown from years of breathing together.
It is the best friend...
...the favorite lover...
...the only one.
And, here on East 23rd Street, it's fucking normal.
It is Her New York.
**
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