Baby’s House of Missed Connections
by Morgan Victoria

J is convinced I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but when I start bleeding out on the Williamsburg sidewalk, she shapes up a bit.

Oh god, she stops midstep, do you need to do something about that?

I elevate my foot and cradle the soft arc of my sandal in my hand. Years of yoga seem to be on my side at this moment. It’s fine, I reassure, despite being the one whose sandal has become slippery and leaving brushstrokes of red behind me. I just need to apply pressure.

J sighs, you can’t go into Baby’s like that.