She said meet her at the stairs. Meet after the bars closed, after the last street wanderers slipped away into the night.
She said meet her at the stairs. Meet at the only place in this pitiful excuse of a city that reminds her of that romantic European spot, the place it started all those years ago.
She said meet her at the stairs. Meet where trains rumble through the night promising passage to better places, places people can start again.
She said meet her at the stairs. Meet with a suitcase in hand, ready to go forward by retreating backwards.
She said meet her at the stairs.
Trask Avenue 
Gothic and perfectly toned!
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Thank you kindly!
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Love the picture and the writing. Both inspire my imagination!
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Inspiration is a good thing!
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She didn’t say top of the stairs or bottom. What a metaphor for sex this turned out to be.
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She’s very sublime.
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I liked that you used stairs as a focal point as opposed to say a statue or a garden. I like the parallel of action and the idea that one place leads to another. Very clever.
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Why thank you!
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This is really intriguing. There are so many ways to read it. Is our narrator lamenting? Had she said to meet him at the stairs and never showed? Is he exulting? Did they reconnect and renew life? Good work.
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Ahhh, I love a good mystery!
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Did you take the photo? It’s a good shot…nice prose to go with it.
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Thanks!
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I’m here at the stairs. Where the hell is she?!
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You were tardy.
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Wow. You have motivated me to pursue the art of brevity. The thoughts and feelings this evoked were…I hereby refrain from elaboration…
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You’re off to a good start!
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