Dry crusted rings form in the bottom of my mug.
Caffeine and cynicism rush through my blood.
The crowded streets of the Big Apple echo through my ears.
But my eyes only see one thing.

You.

No matter where I escape to from the quiet of my bed.
I'm sure I'll see you soon.

Maybe the back of an airplane headed to London,
maybe a small car driving along a cobblestone path in the rain.
Maybe free-falling towards San Diego with a parachute above me.
You always show up.

It doesn't matter how long it's been.
We always meet in the "where's Waldo" of it all.

Tonight's episode takes place in Mumbai.
See you there, P.B.