"Baby, if you were the stars, I'd lay and watch you all night." His words were roof-top spoken, and five stories above a Brooklyn street.
She didn't notice, though, because she was tuned into every noise beneath them: Radios, cars, buses, bikes, steam lines, subways, fans, air-conditioners, televisions, power transformers and a high-up plane were lapping up her consciousness and weaving a lovely blanket of humanity where she could stay warm.
Cold was his distance on the aging roof. She realized a long time ago that his love had fallen for an idea, and that she fit that idea in form only. The short, dark-haired girl with glasses motif was one she wore well. He lived on that ideal: every evening of their lives together he would heat up that film-covered, plastic tray with the neatly organized concepts of her in the microwave of his mind and enjoy it bit by compartmentalized bit.
But the variable of her heart was incalculable in his equation. Knowing that what she loved was not the stars, but the amazing human equation festering beneath this rooftop was beyond his lofty vision. So, he watched the stars and she closed her eyes. He focused himself on the world above, while she closed hers and let the trappings of human existence enter her through the vibrations of building below.
Two uncrossed lovers, one star-bound and the other soaking in the human pretense, shared a patch of Kings County above and below where they longed to be...