"Wanna slice?" Spot asked, cutting a piece of apple with his switchblade. "Sure, as long as dat thing is clean," Anne replied. "It's clean," he replied, handing over the slice.
"Ain't da sky beautiful," she asked, gazing out over the East River. A palette of pastels spread out across the horizon drawing a lot of attention.
"It ain't nothin' compared ta da bridge," Spot replied, crunching in to the fruit. "I'd have ta disagree," Anne mumbled as she chewed, but was stopped when Spot turned to give her a glare for her remark.
"Ain't ya mum eva' told ya dat if ya frown like dat too much your face'll get stuck dat way?" Anne joked.
"No, I've neva' heard dat." Spot replied, matter of factly.
"Well, It's a good thing I'm here den. I doubt dat all da goils a New Yawk would keep lovin' a guy with a screwed up face," Anne giggled.
"Hey!" Spot laughed, ruffling her hair, "Besides, Me mudda neva' was around when I was younger. She died when I was five."
"I'm sorry Spot. I didn't mean to bring it up," she kicked her self mentally, "Like I'm one ta talk. I can't even remembah' if I had a mum. Anne began to run her fingers through her brownish blond, matted hair as she began to twist it into an unruly braid.
"So you haven't remembered anymore a your past?" Spot asked kind of surprised.
"Well, I had a few dreams, but dreams ain't nutten," Anne replied sadly, making an effort to become extremely interested in the grass. She plucked a single blade of green and brought it up close to her eye to inspect it.
"Dat's crazy! Me mudda used ta have dis friend named Flora Bogartson. She was what the hoity toities call...uh.. What's it called...oh yeah, a nutcase-" Anne interrupted him with a laugh, but he continued, "She believed she was a fortuneteller."
"Dere ain't real fortunetellers. Dey are nutcases!" Anne laughed hysterically.
"Shuddup! She wasn't a nutcase. Just a little strange, -" he was interrupted again as Anne let out another rounds of giggles. "Are you through now, so I can finish what I was saying?" Spot asked, eyebrow raised. He was sort of unhappy to see that she wasn't taking him seriously, but happy to have her laughing.
"Go ahead. I'll shuddup." Anne replied, beginning to control her laughter, but still showing a large grin.
"I use to think dat she was da most wonderful lady in da woild. 'Dreams are everything!' she would say. 'They tell the future. They tell what you are thinking; what you want; what you need." he continued.
Anne turned to look at Spot, "But what about nightmares?"
"Dey're da same as dreams. They tell other things like what you hope to find, what you fear, and other stuff like dat," he replied.
Anne looked down as a tingle fell upon her pinky. A little ladybug sat rigidly on her little finger. She giggled to her self as she began to count the dots. "Eight," she said.
"Eight what?" Spot asked transferring his attention to her rather than the sunset.
"Eight dots on me Lady's back. Here..." she said, about to let the insect fly off.
"Wait!" Spot said, catching the bug in mid-flight. "Make a wish," he whispered, replacing the quivering bug upon Anne's finger.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as she thought carefully for the perfect wish. Finally, she reopened her eyes and allowed the lady to glide off with a single swish of her hand.
Anne slowly turned back around to face Spot as soon as 'her lady' had disappeared from view.
"Dat's one thing me mudda taught me," he whispered as he sat, once again, gazing out at the sky. He looked at peace that moment. The sunset seemed to engulf his emotions the same as the fog had done so to Anne in her dream. His eyes glimmered in a way Anne had never seen before. She thought to herself that it was probably that at that moment he was the way he was meant to be, without the worry of selling papers or giving orders, or settling disagreements. He was one with himself.
"Spot?" Anne asked softly, taking his hand in hers.
"Hmmm....? he replied softly, then he felt her soft hand slip into his. He turned to face her, usual grin across his face, "Tell me about your dream."