“You all right?” Jericho murmured, his lips against her neck.
“Yeah. Everything’s jake,” she lied.
Down on the street, the drunk stopped calling for his girl. He sank to his knees, rested his head against the hard cobblestones, and cried. “What we lost, what we lost…”
Somewhere in one of the faceless buildings, a radio played, Al Jolson’s cheery voice drowning out the misery of the drunk in the gutter: “I’m sitting on top of the world… just rolling along—just rolling along….”
The sun cleared the horizon. The light stung her eyes. “Kiss me,” Evie said.
He took her face in his hands and his kiss blotted out the sky.
