We'd been here once before. Staring through tiny holes on a weird-shaped box staring down at the bustling city below us. This time is different. This time he tells me he's ending it. No, not with me, with his fiance of merely two months who he works with at a dive bar down South. Naturally, I thought his engagement the week of my wedding was ludicrous to begin with. A Sapphire instead of a diamond on the hand of a girl with striped purple hair. She wasn't his type.

I gave my condolences, I guess that's the right word, I mean, I said I was sorry even though inside I was happy. That's mean, isn't it? Being happy for the downfall of a relationship that you tried to stop in the first place? A 31-year-old can not get into a relationship with one woman the week after a crazy encounter involving police the next, am I right? I digress.

The Southern boy moves to New York next week, and will leave aforementioned girl in the middle of the night with no explanation. That, is the part of this story I feel bad about. He has a habit of just leaving...