Her sling backs tick away like an erratic clock on the concrete sidewalk as she takes short, quick strides to keep his pace. The neighborhood is filled with the warmth of history as if every building could tell a story. Brownstones with amber hues in their windows, tall trees and street lights line the dark asphalt path. The sights reminiscent of her memories of walking through Brooklyn decades ago. Somewhere between steps she noted that their fingers had stayed intertwined making her even more aware of how she ached for something far more intimate with him. The conversation was lighthearted and frisky. Subjects scattered and jumped from one thing to another with no rhyme or reason.
“It’s a beautiful night.”
“Agreed.” was his reply.
His short answer not bridging the conversation to a next topic.
