Cold wind blows on my cheeks.
I hug my green jacket tight.
I am on the corner of a block in New York City, glancing at myself in the shop window, watching my wild hair dance with the wind.
The sky is cloudy and sad, longing for something, I think, maybe August.
But the skyscrapers stretching up sing of Hope.
I let icy air fill my lungs and cross the road, listening to the traffic whisking by.