They walked one evening.It was a Wednesday. She had finished rehearsal at six and she had texted him and said I am walking home if you want to walk with me and he had been at the corner of the studio street at six fifteen.She had not asked how he had gotten there so fast. She did not need to ask.They walked.The city at six fifteen on a Wednesday was doing its commuter things. People finishing work and moving in the direction of home and the particular purposeful quality of a city at the end of a weekday. She knew this city. She had walked it at every hour for two years. She knew what it looked like in autumn at six fifteen and she knew what it smelled like and she knew which streets were worth taking the long way through.She took the long way.He walked beside her without commenting on the route.They talked about small things. She asked what he was reading. He told her. She said I read that three years ago. He said what did you think. She told him. He listened and said two thing
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