American literary giant: 1974

After several rounds of drinks, it was already past midnight.

When I pushed open the door of Saints' Bar, it was snowing in New York.

Freeman could no longer stand. He leaned against Mike, the three hundred pounds pressing down on Mike's skinny frame, causing Mike to cry out in pain.

Freeman muttered, "Fuck...fuck..."

"Alright, alright, let's go." Mike gritted his teeth and took a step forward. After taking two steps, Freeman suddenly turned his head and stared at Lynn with a look that was unique to drunk people and was overly serious.

"Lynn".

"Um."

"You fucking...are a writer now."

"Um."

"You fucking remember this."

He didn't say what he remembered.

Mike had already dragged him away. The two of them staggered around a corner, and Freeman's voice drifted back from the street corner saying something, but it was unclear.

Lynn's lips twitched slightly: "I've got it."

Miller was still standing there. His glasses were covered with a fine layer of snowflakes, and his face was flushed.

"I'm leaving."

Then he turned around. He took three steps, then came back.

"Lynn".

"Um?"

Miller took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on. Immediately, fresh snow fell onto the lenses.

"...It's alright. Thank you...thank you."

"You should thank Mr. Kopper for having presbyopia."

"Um."

"Um."

"I……"

"What?"

"It's nothing... uh... I'm leaving. My lawyer dad's still at home waiting to deal with me."

Goodbye, Miller.

Then Miller stumbled and ran away, in a very awkward way.

The remaining three people stood on Brick Street.

Leia, Lynn, Elena.

Leia was tying her scarf. A black wool coat, a burgundy scarf—she had tied it in a pretty, warm knot. Snowflakes drifted gently down onto her.

"I live on the east side," Leia said, then glanced at Elena, then at Lynn, "And you?"

"We live on the south side," Elena said.

When she uttered the word "we," even she paused slightly, then quickly corrected herself: "I live in the lower district, and he lives in the lower district too. It's on our way."

Leia nodded and smiled slightly.

"That's all for now. Goodnight, Lynn. Goodnight, Elena."

She turned and walked east. Her high heels clicked steadily on the sidewalk. Her golden hair swayed twice under the streetlights. After a few steps, she suddenly stopped and turned back.

"Elena."

"Um?"

"Next time I go to your bar, make me one of your best drinks."

"My specialty is draft beer."

"Then let's have draft beer."

Then she left. Lynn watched her retreating figure, snowflakes swirling with soot, her golden hair falling into the snowy night, turning a corner and disappearing.

Only Lynn and Elena remained on Brick Street.

The two walked south, their footsteps creating a slow and steady rhythm on the empty street.

"She's a nice person," Elena suddenly said.

"Um?"

"Rhea. She's very beautiful."

"Um."

"Very smart."

"Um."

"He knows more about wine than I do."

"Um."

"Her scarf is very beautiful."

"Um."

"Could you please stop just saying 'um'?"

Are you angry?

"I'm not angry, I'm just stating the facts."

Lynn took the cigarette out of his mouth without lighting it. He had been holding it in his mouth the whole way, and the mouthpiece had become a little soft from being covered by his lips.

"What do you want me to say?"

Elena pulled her hand out from under her down jacket, rubbed her fingertips together, then looked down at her boots as they stepped lightly through the snow.

"Couldn't you just say, 'Yes, Elena, she's beautiful, but I also like the gin and tonic you made'?"

Lynn glanced at her sideways.

Elena's face was turned forward, her down jacket collar turned up high. The streetlights illuminated her profile, making it appear half bright and half dark.

"Yes, Elena. She's beautiful. But—"

"But what?"

"The gin and tonic you made was actually just average."

Lynn grinned.

Elena didn't speak. Lynn waited for her to yell at him, or at least glare at him. She could throw a tantrum, say something, anything.

But Elena didn't.

She was walking with her head down. The collar of her down jacket covered most of her face; all he could see was her forehead and hair, with snowflakes falling on her hair.

We walked about half a street.

"Are you serious?" Elena's voice came from inside her collar, muffled.

"What?"

You said my gin and tonic is just so-so.

"I've only drunk it a few times."

"Four cups."

Lynn slowed her pace.

"You remember?"

Elena didn't answer, but quickened her pace and walked ahead of Lynn.

He looked at the back of her head; a thin layer of snow had accumulated on her chestnut-brown hair.

He suddenly wanted to reach out and brush the snow away. But he didn't; he wasn't sure he had the right.

They turned a corner. A Ford Pinto was parked on the side of the street, the snow around its tires melted by the exhaust pipe. No one was inside, but the radio was still on, and a melody drifted through the window—it sounded like Al Green. The sound seemed very distant in the snowy night.

They walked to a building made of brownstone, with rusty railings on the steps and a broken light bulb by the door. Lynn looked up and saw that it resembled his own apartment, another low-rent housing unit in Lower Manhattan.

"I have arrived."

"Elena," Lynn said.

"No need to see me off." She walked up the first step.

"There's snow in your hair."

Elena turned her head. She stood on the second step, making her a head taller than Lynn, and looked down at him.

For the first time, the first time all night, she looked directly at Lynn.

"Lynn".

"Um."

"The poem you recited was good, Negroni."

"What do you think of this classic drink, bartender?" Lynn asked with a smile.

"You only mentioned Campari, orange peel, and gin. Three things. Your Negroni is missing vermouth."

Lynn didn't say anything.

"Sweet vermouth," Elena continued. "Made by Italians, with a wine base—a European wine, a European woman."

Snow fell on the steps between the two people.

"Lynn, the more people care about something, the more they tend to avoid it. There's no absinthe in your Negroni."

Lynn stood below, looking up at her. She was a head taller than him, her down jacket collar pulled tight, and Elena's chestnut-brown eyes shone brightly in the snow.

"So, you care about Vermouth, you care about Leia?"

Lynn opened her mouth slightly, then suddenly realized that this problem couldn't be brushed off with a joke like "Gin and Tonic is just so-so".

"...That poem isn't finished yet, Elena."

Elena looked at Lynn.

"Then remember to let me know when you're done writing."

She turned around.

"...Next time you come, I'll mix you a different drink. Goodnight, poet."

Then she pushed the door open and went in, without waiting for Lynn to say goodnight.

He stood there, snow falling on his shoulders, on her footprints on the steps, on the broken light bulb. He didn't know which snowfall this was in 1974.