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Bob Bickford is writing his latest novel called “A Kiss from Chloe”. I love this passage; the references to cigarettes, the way she walks like a line in a song, the romance and anticipation, the wanting to kiss her but looking instead.

This is a dream come true for me in written word. 

At last, the boisterous cars, the squealing tires and blatting mufflers were gone, and the giant machine that was the city groaned and sighed and settled itself into real darkness. Occasional lost ones rippled the quiet, creeping out into the street’s light here and there, then blending back into doorways and darkened recesses. Yellow police cars drove slowly by at intervals, their blank windshields looking at nothing.

It seemed like a night for cigarettes. I wished briefly that I still smoked, but I had none, so I watched the city’s uneasy sleep instead. The concrete beneath me got cold, but I didn’t move.

I saw her coming from a long way off, in the last hour before the eastern sky lightened. She came toward me, passing in and out of the illumination of half-lighted storefronts, walking like the whole night belonged to her. She stopped in front of me, and I reached out and touched her hair. I didn’t say anything.

“How long were you going to wait?” she asked.

I wanted to kiss her, but settled for looking.

“Longer than this,” I finally said. “A lot longer.”

 

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