The giddy girls in their tight spring jeans swarm the coffee bars at five & tease the boys who pass & the men who give a quick glance & dart ahead. One comes to the door of the café & smiles in your face & says in perfect English, “I’ve seen you before” & you stop & hold out your hand & offer her a ride & she accepts & away you go in a rush of air up the mountain & she screams as if delighted but is not & demands to be home before the sun sets & you gear down but can’t quite make the grade & she hops off & sticks a raised finger in your face & wags her ass as she hops the metro for her quick escape & as usual the sun does set & as usual you walk down Casanova & stop for your wine at El Zapato where the band plays Night Train & takes you up to Harlem where the living is easy & the only mountain to climb is the bar stool you’re on & you order another & keep on going to the end of the line where Beatrice & Sofia help you down & carry you home for a full-blown exchange of sweat & champagne & you laugh & wave to all who pass & say out loud, “Honey, this here’s my world & my ticket to ride!”