The News



Originally published June, 2016 on


Take a picture of this....

A dimly-lit city street corner; a quarter to midnight.

A foggy drizzle settles in to blur the neighborhood and choke-out the evening sounds.

A man steps into the glow of the streetlight. His trench coat is wrapped tightly around his thin frame as the rain drips from the wide brim of his hat.

A shadow conceals his face except for the glow of his cigarette.

Headlights slowly approach through the fog. He checks his watch, "Right on time", he whispers. In a moment the limousine comes to a stop just beyond the direct light of the street corner. A uniformed driver rushes to open the door for the female passenger. She is dressed similar to the man on the corner.

Shrouded in shadow, his eyes follow her as she approaches; the clicking of her high-heels echoing off of the storefront windows. He knows the rhythmic sound of her stride all too well.

She stops dangerously close to him as he instinctively turns towards her, allowing the streetlight to partially reveal his face. Neither speak as she scans his face for a glimmer of hope. It's been two weeks since she abruptly left for Monte Carlo -- two weeks that now seem like two years.

He squints slightly while taking a drag from his cigarette, revealing new lines around his eyes. She has seen the effects of stress on his face before. Now she knows the answer before asking the question.

The driver has darkened the headlights and left the engine running, just as she requested. The drizzle has stopped and she removes her hat, allowing the streetlight to illuminate her face. He almost breaks a smile as he scans every subtle curve, but his frown quickly returns.

"Is it true?" she asks, breaking the silence between them. The question drifts off into the fog as she watches his eyes. "It's true, isn't it?"

He flicks his cigarette onto the wet sidewalk. He stares at her for a moment, clenches his jaw and drops his gaze to the ground. "Yes. Yes, it's true."

She steps closer to him, pressing her palm against his stubbly cheek, "I'm not sure I can go through this again. You remember the last time this happened; the pain, the sense of loss, the wasted precious time."

He shares her anxiety: "Don't worry, this will all work out."

She bites her lower lip, "I'm not so sure, some things in life are irreplaceable."

He smiles: "We'll get recommendations; we'll find another hairdresser."

Smiling, she slides her arm around his, "Let's go home."

As they turn towards the vehicle -- the headlights immediately illuminate the couple. The driver glances across the street for a split-second, then smiles as the man and woman climb into the rear seat.

As we watch the limousine disappear into the fog, a neon sign flickers to life in a storefront window across the street: