Orion 2:37 p.m. Valentino and I are becoming inseparable, as if we’re the living, breathing versions of our inscribed name back on the Brooklyn Bridge—ValentinOrion, all one word, the O bigger because it belongs to both of us. If I’m not holding his hand because he’s taking pictures of Times Square, I’m touching his shoulder or hooking my finger through his belt loop. It’s like I’ll float away if we lose contact. More like he will, I guess.
