Chapter 8

The man is harmless, I determine, which attracts me to him. How easy he is to like, fall for, or something. I feel happy with myself that we don’t end up sleeping together, semi-proud for not sneaking into his room in the middle of the night and seducing him. Honorable. Responsible. Clean.

* * * *

“Thirtieth and Bower,” I tell the taxi driver, resting in his back seat.

“The Powder Building?” he confirms in his Iranian accent.

“Yes, please.”

The ride is much needed: a tranquil and beautiful sunrise enchants the waking city. It’s six-thirty in the morning and businessmen and women begin their days. The smell of coffee and donuts waft about the buildings, park, and passersby.