It's a cold night in Boston. I walk through the familiar streets toward the greyhound station to return to the unfamiliar - the now unknown. A street musician that I would have overlooked before I met you plays an old love song, drudging up more memories of your face, and bringing a smile to mine. I wonder if you think of me on nights like this, walking through those streets that are so familiar and important to you, and so frightening to me. It's going to be a cold night in New York.