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There is a melody to a New York summer. There is music in the whisper of leaves, the crunch of gravel beneath sandaled feet, the call of sidewalk buskers, the blare of car horns and the tangle of many tongues. Justin tries to remember to stroll -- there is nowhere he has to be. He tries to remember to peek into the tiny shops that line the crowded streets, to let the music flow through him, to join in the harmony of the city.
When Brian is there, the melody becomes a symphony. And Justin breathes it in, finally content. |
Feedback
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Severina
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