Even though the stars were out shining and the trees were undulating silently under the wind’s force, the air smelled of lightening and the earth shook in small tremors underneath my feet. I tried to avoid the eyes and the slack, emotionless smiles of the smokers huddled on stoops as he and I fumbled towards the subway, past grates spewing steam and the smell of trash. He led me quietly, pushing lightly on my lower back with his palm, while little white puffs of warm, used air came from his nostrils and his eyes searched the hazy skyline. Walking beside him, I became acutely aware that we were not going home to have a cocktail: a storm was coming.