I was waiting for you, impatiently. I watched out the window, attempting to see your red hair emerge from one of the taxis below. One after the other, strangers we departing from their cab rides: a small elderly woman with a matching small yapping dog with a tiny pink bow in its fur, an artist with dark hair and glasses, fumbling with his brightly colored canvases, and a nanny and her charge,her small hand holding fast to a red balloon and praying not to lose it to the western winds. But still, you did not appear. Then, you called and told me you would be late.