Happy New Year
In Times Square, thousands of revelers hugged and kissed each other, a cacophony of party horns blared in unison, tons of confetti swirled down to the street from the windows and the rooftops.
After what seemed like an hour of holding my breath and staring at the TV, I noticed that there were red numerals blinking in the lower right corner of the screen. At first, my mind refused to make sense of the flashing line segments, but then they slowly resolved themselves into patterns, and then into recognizable numbers.
It was six minutes after midnight.
And New York was definitely still there.
Somehow, I managed to set the receiver back in its cradle. I turned to look at Donna, but she was staring at the television, viewing the merriment in Times Square with a bemused smile.
"What was that all about?" she asked, never taking her eyes off the TV.
I tried to formulate an answer, but my brain was too numb to find the right words.
I shrugged. "Wrong number," I said.
Donna looked skeptical, but I distracted her with a surprisingly passionate New Year's kiss. And no, I'm not going to tell you what happened next...
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©2007 Henry Charles Mishkoff