“You're not the guy at the train station. You're my Blake.”

“Please don’t think of me that way. Let me be the guy at the train station.”“You’re not the guy at the train station. You’re my Blake.”

“Remember two eighty-six. Livia now counted on the same sort of feverish, rain-soaked determination that had driven Blake to the train station for smile number two hundred eighty-six. Please be there. He has to be there.”

“Livia leaped into the Escort and drove straight to Poughkeepsie Station, letting instinct and her internal Blake GPS be her guide.”

“Blake had to find Livia. And he knew where to find her. He could come to her any day at the Poughkeepsie train station. But it had to be his choice to come back. Suddenly leaving him here to play his exquisite music didn’t feel like giving up. It gave Livia hope.”

“Blake turned to Livia. “We were never formally introduced. When your father sees me at the train station from his patrol car, he often stops by later in the day with a bagged meal that he refuses to let me turn down. You, Livia, inherit your generous nature from him.”

“Number 1 was the hardest to think about now. After. But Blake let himself go there as Chaos pressed into the deepest punctures.Blake liked the train station because the trains offered reliable percussion for the songs he played in his head. When Livia had first stepped onto the platform, Blake had tried his hardest not to stare. He knew moneyed people didn’t like their women getting ogled by the homeless. But she was so friendly, even in this place where people built their own personal bubbles and stayed in them. When she smiled she looked like a walking ray of the sunshine he had to avoid.Her eyes had found his and shocked him. Blake was used to the blank, anesthetized eyes of those looking everywhere but at him. Her smile was resuscitation for his soul.Me! She sees me.”