It goes without saying I craved every flavour of his face: his salt ‘n’ pepper stubble, his ripe red lips, his toffee tan from his time in Addis Ababa. He always left me wanting. I had one and only prayer: Rodney and Missy, sitting in a tree, l-i-c-k-i-n-g—

It was the last Friday of August, a hundred-five Fahrenheit, and I was running late. Chrystie Street lapped up my bare calves. Every aircon in every window left a little purr as I flew by. Ever seen a city in heat before? Exhibit A: NYC, circa 2015.