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“Your dad didn’t want you to?”
“No. Same man was pissed when I didn’t go to Julliard.”
“Could you have gone there?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I didn’t want to. I don’t…”
“You don’t what?”
Uncomfortable now with how personal the conversation has become, I shrug and look away. My eyes catch on a skinny older man setting up to play a bongo drum. He opens a little suitcase for people to throw him tips.
“I don’t do well with rules. Expectations. Life’s too short.”
“Rules and expectations make the world safe and less chaotic. Which makes life easier to enjoy.”
“You say tomato.” I’m still watching the old man. He flips a crate over and sits down. No one else is paying attention as he starts banging the bongo in a smooth, hypnotic beat.
“What’s your end game, though?” Skye persists.
I pull a twenty from my billfold and walk over to drop it in the guy’s case. He nods his appreciation. Skye’s watching me closely when I join her again. I’m not destitute, but I don’t have twenties laying around to hand out either. I have a soft spot for musicians, though.
“Why does there have to be an end game?” I ask her. “I suppose I’ll be dead like everyone else is eventually. I just wanna enjoy myself.”
She blinks at me and finally nods. “So, are you the mailman’s kid? Or is Chloe?”
