55th story.

Sometimes we sit around and tell stories about where we came from, where we've been.

My stories are all wrapped up in Brooklyn, in that skyline, on the subway, on rooftops. The stories are good ones, and though they ache when told, I like to hear them again and again.

I didn't date much in the city, really, I didn't date at all aside from a few misplaced occasions.

We met within two weeks of my move to the city. We met the first time I went to Brooklyn, at some dive, with some people. And it was unremarkable. We danced and smiled and held glances across the table and promised to see one another again with a kiss on the cheek goodnight.

And we did, with friends and now and then. We talked about Hebrew and how hard it is to find a good woman and taking pictures and making dinner. Good conversations, a good friend. And it was unremarkable. And a year went by and we danced now and then, until he called to say he was moving to Chicago.

We walked the city with bare feet, for TOMS, for people without shoes, to feel good about ourselves. And we did. Danced and laughed ourselves all the way to the roof of a tall tall building under the eave of the Empire herself. He held me and I held him and we stood on top of all things, in the shadow of the city's namesake. We talked about the girl who broke his heart last and the strange way things happen. Finally, after all the knowing anticipation, he kissed me. And we kissed for a long time, maybe to prolong his leaving, maybe just to remember the moment.

And it was three in the morning fifty five stories high, in the middle of the strangest and most beautiful city, in the shadow of the Empire State building, that we kissed for the first and last time. It was unremarkable because the same story could be told with different names and in a different place. But all the same it's a story I don't mind telling again.