Symptoms of sudden death and love

In Austin I start sneezing blood. This is terrifying, obviously, and in my rented bed I convince myself that it's a symptom of sudden death without even looking it up. Luckily, on the way to the bathroom for a frenzied last shower, I bump into a guy I'd met in New Orleans who tells me that everyone who stayed at that hostel now has the same thing. It's just a chest-cold, he says, and I feel better and decide to spend the entire day eating soft fruit with Macy in bed.

I miss the Locksmith, all of a sudden. But in a pathetic, needy way; now that I'm sneezing blood. Right, says Macy, pulling apart an orange. This is the nature of love.

On my last night in Nashville we'd driven down Second Avenue, all lit up with twinkling lights. Look at this! he'd said. Doesn't it make you want to stay for Christmas? But you're Jewish, I'd laughed. You hate Christmas and all that. Not if you stay. If you stay then we'll do all that jingle-jingle shit and I'll sit on Santa's lap.

It was tempting, Macy, to stay in Nashville for the winter: learning the guitar; taking our clothes off; talking about going downtown and ending up just staying in. That's what I wanted, right? The warmth of someone else's skin?

Macy laughs and hands me another piece of tangerine. I want to snuggle up to her, here on the bottom bunk. But she doesn't like it when I touch her, I don't think.

What you wanted was to be on the road. There are Christmas lights in every town; and this is just a chest-cold.