Brooklyn drifting past the window in warm streaks of light… steel humming beneath us, that familiar rhythm rocking the whole car into something almost intimate. The air’s thick summer heat, a trace of cologne, that faint, lived-in scent of the city that never really leaves your skin. He’s folded into the seat across from me, head tilted, lips parted just enough to tell me he’s somewhere softer than here. Dreaming. Unbothered. Completely surrendered to the moment. And me… I’m just here, quiet, taking it in. The ease of him. The way he sits like the world isn’t watching, like comfort is the only rule that matters. There’s something real about that. Something honest. New York gives you everything if you know how to look. Some views just don’t come with a skyline.