Carboard cutouts we used to call people rush the streets every time a light changes, curse at enormous insectile cars that scuttle from the sodium-lit safety of city parking garages to the dubious safety of suburban driveways and streets. The city is alive, but barely, not like you, Josh. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat emanating from your cheeks like two great buttery rolls fresh from the oven. I'm hungry, Josh, for the old days and for your touch.