Copy ImageThe map was just an accessory. She knew exactly where she was
Galt Niederhoffer
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There was something horribly depressing, she felt, about watching the weather report. That life could be planned like the perfect summer picnic drained it of spontaneity
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Time passed at an accelerated pace. They could be sitting in traffic or talking on the phone or waiting in line for a movie, and their time felt precious, important, worthwhile
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Was it possible there was some fatal flaw in their matching, that they were ultimately, impossibly different--dissimilar enough to fall in love, but too fundamentally distinct to stay together?
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And she had been in love enough times to rule out the possibility that this was merely some feat of nostalgia
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