“Well, I’m happy you did. End up here, I mean. There’s much to be said for spontaneity, though I’m not entirely sure what any of those things are,” I said. “So where is Logan Square?”

“Are you not from here?”

I shook my head. “Just moved here a month and a half ago.”

“Oh really, from where?”

“New York City.”

Her eyes widened. It was a common response when telling someone I was from New York, a kind of instant respect.

“I’ve always wanted to go.”

“It’s a great city.”

“Yeah? What made you leave?”

I thought about it a moment. “You know, I’m not entirely sure anymore. Bad luck, maybe?”

“Do you not like it here?”

“I don’t really know yet. It’s cold, that’s for sure.” I wrapped my arms around my torso and shuddered for effect. “The wind rips right through you.”

“Yeah, the winters suck,” she agreed. “But you’ll love summer.”

We fell silent again. I looked down at Gene and he gave me a thumbs-up. I hoped Carolyn hadn’t seen it. Behind him, through the window, snow was falling in perfect harmony with the soft tones of Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” playing on the jukebox, and I suddenly found myself feeling overly sentimental. I turned back to Carolyn and her brilliant eyes bore into mine. They were truly striking, and seemed to shimmer under the subtle glow of a nearby string of Christmas lights. I felt an instant warmth toward her, a desire to forgo the conversation and just wrap my arms around her, pull her into me, and bury my face within her hair. Why was that never allowed? If it’s true that the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, then why do we still approach one another with timidity and false pretenses? Why do we have to play the game?

“So where did you say Logan Square is? ” I asked, hating that I lacked anything more interesting to say.

“Oh, it’s west of here, off the Blue Line,” she said. I had yet to take the Blue Line. I had no idea where it ran. “It’s not very nice. Kind of run-down. But it’s cheap.”

Sam, the owner, stopped in front of Carolyn. “Gene would like to buy the two of you a drink,” he said, and Carolyn looked at me for validation.

“The older man at the other end of the bar,” I said. “He’s my landlord, or rather my friend, I guess. What do you want?”