They sat atop A60, overlooking Midtown,
And the street that made the world move.
Maxwell’s martini had lost its fervor and he sought another.
Benjamin presided over his strawberry mojito, trying to escape a distant past.
“What do you miss most?” Maxwell inquired.
Benjamin was still. His noir Tom Ford ensemble infused with his grief.
The comment piqued Maxwell’s interest.
Benjamin gazed up at his friend. His eyes reflective, like the work of Angelo Barovier.
“She tastes like Spanish brandy.”
Maxwell took a moment, before nodding in comprehension.
Implode. Part XXII – DK