It's cold. Very cold. February cold. In January.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
And the heart wants: a quality pair of long johns.
“Carl,” the heart says. “Ready the Bentley. A visit to Saks is in order.”
The heart waits. Carl doesn't show. Neither does the Bentley. The heart sighs.
The heart must now consider the inconsiderable…public transportation.
Through a bracing wind that would tip a herd of caribou the heart makes its way to the subway only to discover the entrance takes tokens not coins. The heart has coins. The entrance takes tokens.
The heart wants a token.
The heart spots a machine in the corner which turns coins into tokens. The heart doesn't understand the alchemy. It wants what it wants. A token. So the heart plugs all the coins into the machine. And waits.
No. Token. Drops.
The heart wants long johns from Saks. The heart can't get long johns from Saks unless it can get into the subway. And the only way it can get into the subway is with a token but it used all its coins on a machine that promised a token but delivered no token.
The heart shouts the harshest of vulgarities into a speaker. There is no response.
A man with a token going through the turnstile points at the out-of-order sign near the speaker which the heart didn't see because the heart was so full of token machine rage. “Broken, dude.”
Broken. The heart. It wants what it wants. A quality pair of long johns.
A quality pair of long johns. And. A cup of hot chocolate with a marshmallow.
The heart wants a quality pair of long johns. And. A cup of hot chocolate with a marshmallow. And. Emily.
The heart wants Emily.
She'll have a token.
The heart waits.
For Emily.
Still.
In the cold cold.
It wants what it wants.