Tim sat in Bryant Park reflecting on his past and the emotional arthritis that still held him in its crippling grip. He knew that Anne was not the key to his recovery—that he was merely perpetuating the mistakes of the past by staying in another doomed relationship—but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to break things off; she offered him nothing, and he wanted even less from her, but at least he could say that he wasn’t alone.
Looking up, he was surprised to see that the play had ended and the park was mostly empty. He took out his phone and looked at it, cringing when he saw that it was after four. He reached over for his bags, panicking when he saw that they were gone before groaning in exasperation.
“Ugh—I left them upstairs. Fucking pe...
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