The erratic, fierce wind blows hard down an empty 5th Avenue in Brooklyn like a fussy child having a tantrum and breaking his own toys. Katie and I both pull up our hoods against the bluster and walk in silence with our hands shoved in our jacket pockets.
“You want to get something at the taco truck?” I say, my voice spacey from having forgotten to eat as much as I needed today.
“I want to get some food, go home, eat it, and have my husband back,” Katie replies.
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