My mother, showing all the restraint in the world when all she wants to do is ask about the new guy I'm dating: "I'm just going to sit here and let you complain."
And I do, about WORK, and FRIENDS, and A COMPLETE LACK OF SATISFACTION, and we blow off our plans to visit open houses in order to drink martinis at the Top of the Mark, where our new family first began, watching the wisps roll in over a city that glitters in spite, and because, of the fog: this is a town full of an addictive concentrated energy.
I don't need to move here, I realize. I just need to visit more often.