We found each other by accident down Third Avenue one warm day after the Fourth of July, the city air still choked with fireworks. Our eyes locked. In that instant, we knew: this was who we’d been searching for. And who’d been searching for us. All our lives had been zeroing relentlessly in on this moment where time lost absolute meaning and all that counted was the relative measure of who made the first move.
She was fast. So was I.
With so much gunpowder in the air, a little more wouldn’t hurt. Bullets, on the other hand, always do.