Tonight is one of those nights that reminds me that I need to stop spending ninety percent of my time either at work or at home.

Live music is everywhere in this city, all the damn time. And at its best, it can stop time.

That’s what it feels like right now, standing in the middle of the general admission with Maddie.

The energy from the stage, the all-encompassing barrage of crystal-clear sound, the energy in the crowd—it all creates a moment bigger than the future or the past.

Time keeps stopping. Maddie and I acknowledge these moments together, looking at each other, then back to the stage.

But then time marches on, and after two encores, the time-stopping show comes to an end.

The house lights come up, and I immediately ask Maddie a hard-hitting question.

“So, are they coming out again, or what?”

“No,” Maddie tells me, “not likely.”

“Now what?” I ask.

“Now, we dance.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

But then we dance anyway. Slowly, to the Louis Armstrong song playing over the Highline Ballroom’s PA system.

The crowd clears out as we dance, and the staff comes in to start cleaning plastic cups from the floor.

“After we dance, then what?” I inquire.

“You tell me,” Maddie responds.

The song ends, the house lights get even brighter, and now the only sound is the cleaning staff doing their jobs.

“Is it time to leave yet?” I ask.

Maddie watches the exit, scoping out the hallway.

“Yeah, I think it might be safe now.”

We leave the brightened auditorium and enter the emptying corridor.

“Maybe we can squeeze in one last drink at this bar, if it’s not closing down.” Maddie gestures towards a small bar in the hallway as we pass.

The bartender’s closing shop, taking down the beer cans and wine bottles he has on display.

“I’m not sure if it is,” I tell her.

“Not quite yet, folks,” the bartender informs us.

“We’ll have two red wines, please.” I point to the sole bottle of red wine on the bar. “Actually, you can give us the whole bottle. That’ll be fine, too.”

“You can have the display model.” The bartender uncorks the bottle and hands us two fresh plastic cups.

The house music is still coming through the hallway speakers. Now it’s a clarinet playing Down by the Riverside.

“Mm,” I say, commenting about the music as I take my first sip of the cheap pinot noir.

I don’t know if Maddie knows why I said “Mm.”

“Mm, indeed,” she responds.

“I’m liking this jazz motif tonight,” I tell her.

“Yeah,” Maddie says, looking at something on the ceiling for a second.

“I like tonight in general,” I blurt out. “I don’t know why, but I really do, and I can’t keep it to myself.”

Maddie nods. “Me, too.”

I glance over at the bartender counting his tips.

“What do you really think?” I ask Maddie.

“Um, I think it’s in the fucking greatest. That show...it’s been fucking great. And this wine, well, it’s not bad, either.”

“But what now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m probably going to have to pee sooner or later, but I guess we’ll both have to stay in suspense about that.”

I want to tell Maddie that when I left my apartment at five-thirty in the afternoon, I thought I could face anything.

I was well-rested for once. I felt healthy. I had nothing else to do but see her.

But I felt like there was something else I had to take care of, something missing.

It wasn’t boredom. I don’t know what it was.

But now, being here with her at the show, watching her sip wine from a plastic cup, that feeling’s gone.

“When do you think that’ll be? I wasn’t really thinking about when you needed to...you know.”

“Welcome to my world,” Maddie says, and laughs at her own nonsense.

It’s fucking Maddie. She’s really here.

I laugh, too.

“The wine can’t be helping,” I remark.

“Oh, I think it’s helping. I mean, I’m used to the Trader Joe’s two buck chuck...”

“It’s four buck chuck in Manhattan.”

“Fucking tell me about it, right?”

“This is just slightly better, isn’t it” I ask.

I look over at the bartender, who heard me. He shrugs.

“I know I don’t have the same line Trader Joe’s always has out the door,” he points out.

“Yeah, that place is like Studio fucking 54,” Maddie says, which gets me thinking.

I got us into the show, I might as well take Maddie wherever the hell she wants to go.

“Do you want to go there now?” I ask her.

“What, Studio 54? Do you have a time machine? Or do you just mean Trader Joe’s?”

“Anywhere, everywhere. Where do you want to go?”

Maddie gulps down the rest of her red wine, and I do the same.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she says.

It sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.

I hand the bartender a fifty. “No change,” I tell him. He’s silent as we leave.

“That was like, what a two-hundred percent tip?” Maddie’s growing gleeful, her eyes shining with amusement. “Christ, you do like to tip well, don’t you? Now I remember...”

Maddie’s face falls, and she sighs deeply instead of finishing her thought.

“Remember what, Madeline?”

“That I believe in tipping generously.” Maddie sounds barely believable herself.

“What else to you believe in?”

“I guess I believe in the Highline Ballroom. The sound was pretty good tonight, it seems like the crowds are managed well...”

“Do you state all your beliefs in the form of a Yelp review?”

“Do you not?”

“I don’t, but it’s not a bad idea. What else do you believe in that rates at least four stars?”

“Hey, that wasn’t a four-star review!” Maddie responds as we walk side by side towards the exit, seeing the last few stragglers leave in front of us. “I don’t believe in hanging out in Manhattan most Saturday nights.”

“Ah. So, wait, where do you hang out?”

She responds by smiling blushingly.

“I knew it! Williamsburg. That is who you are.”

“Sometimes. Or...yeah. More than sometimes.”

“Oh. Do you want to go there?”

“Fuck, no, not tonight,” Maddie says pointedly. “Let’s just go for a walk. Around here—Williamsburg is too fucking far. But we’ll see.”

Frankly, if Maddie wanted to walk all the way to the Lower East Side, across the Williamsburg Bridge, all the way up to Bedford Avenue, I would do it in a second.

I’d walk with her all the way to Queens, Long Island, the Bronx, upstate, wherever the fuck she wanted to go.

But right now, we’re just going for a walk.

“Okay, let’s go for a walk in Chelsea. It’ll be a start.”

“O...kay.” Maddie says it slowly with a big nod and an even bigger smile.

A wonderful, goofy smile.

Goofy. There’s a word that I haven’t thought of in five years, and that I’ve said maybe never.

Walking with Maddie through the exit, each of us pushing open one of the glass doors, I’m enjoying that word a whole fucking lot.

“Oh, man, it’s like seventy fucking degrees out.” I know it’s Maddie’s voice saying this, but it’s a perfect mirror of my thoughts.

What a seriously beautiful night.

“Tonight is perfect. The weather, I mean.”

“Sure…and how the fuck did the crowd vanish so fast? Just where are they?”

“Williamsburg.”

I watch Maddie sign which direction she wants to go. Her feet are pointed uptown.

“Yeah, probably. They scattered to Brooklyn and everywhere else.”

“Now it’s nobody here in the city, nobody here but us.”

“Nobody here but us chickens?” Maddie enquires brightly while grabbing my hand.

Maddie’s grip gets tighter, and I have another moment of questioning whether I’m in a dream while we cross an empty West 16^th Street.

“What else would we be?”

Now that we’re on the uptown side of the street, I begin guiding us west, walking towards the High Line itself.

“What are you doing?” Maddie complains with a laugh. “We can’t go any further. The river’s right there, and chickens can’t fucking swim.”

“How would you know that?”

“How would I know that? Ever seen a chicken swim?”

“Don’t be chicken; we got a couple blocks of dry land before that. And Del Posto.”

“Del Posto? Is that in the cards for tonight, Eth?”

I see the empty blocks stretching in front of us, the columns supporting the High Line, the sparse, twinkling lights of Hoboken across the river…

It almost seems to good to be true.

“Look into your heart, Madeline. Whatever you truly want, that’s what’s in the cards.”

Madeline and I both stop at the exact same time. Even in the low light, the emerald of her eyes slices through everything.

Our hands are clasping with growing intent. I feel my temperature rising, and I’m sure Maddie’s is, too.

“Part of me wants to make you regret your offer,” she coos quietly.

“Which part?”

“To be determined, Eth. Our walk’s not over, yet.”

Maddie and I start walking again, staying on our path to the waterfront.