Faint Hopes by Ken Liebeskind
David decided to make a bold move. “Want to go for a walk?” he said. “Are we running away already?” Dawn asked. “Just walking,” David said. “A little neighborhood stroll on a nice night.”
“Okay, lets,” Dawn said, with a suggestive smile.
They finished their drinks, put them down on the table and David led the way out. When he felt the fresh air and looked at Dawn, a feeling of wellness came over him. He reached over and touched Dawn’s cheek. She closed her eyes and seemed to enjoy it.
“So how long have you been in New York?” David asked. “C’mon that’s what all the guys ask,” Dawn said. David laughed. “Okay, what’s your favorite color?” he said. “Blue,” Dawn said, “the color of the sea.” “That’s where we can run away together, the sea,” David said. “We’ll live on the beach and collect shells.” “That would be nice,” Dawn said. “No cares in the world.” “Right,” David said, “just the two of us, lots of sunshine and salt water. “Of course, you’re crazy,” Dawn said. “But that’s okay, I like crazy.”
David made another bold move, wrapping his arm around Dawn’s waist in a loose, but tender manner. It was so soft and slim it seemed a “hands off” sign should have been posted, but Dawn didn’t object. In fact, she rested her head on David’s shoulder for a moment as they walked down the street.
Finally, they approached an all night coffee shop and David asked Dawn if she felt like stopping. “Yeah,” Dawn said, “I love these places.”
Sure enough, it was a trip. It was after 2 a.m., when coffee shops in New York take on a new identity, as havens for the late night riff raff that walks the streets. At the booths near them were what looked like a heavy metal band, a group of hookers, a couple of meat packers and three members of a motorcycle gang. “We fit right in,” David said, after they were seated. “I’m real comfortable,” Dawn said, with a gleam in her eye.