December 17th, 4:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

The New York day outside was bitter cold. Days like today no one I know should even be outside. Those who don't have HIV have to worry about giving colds to those who do. I huddle inside my jacket and burrow into my scarf.

I stand outside, trying to map out a plan. She's still sitting in the pizzeria, but how long will that last? I need to go and try to meet her now.

I cross the street and walk by the pizzeria, as nonchalantly as I can manage. As I walk by, I can get a closer look at her, writing something down. She's as pale as me, but a lot shorter. The hat covers her head, so I don't know what her hair is like. She's definitely not as skinny as me (then again, who is?), but it looks like she's lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. She also has wire-rim glasses around a gorgeous pair of hazel eyes. She looks… well, perfect. I take a deep breath and walk into the pizzeria.

When the door opens, she looks up expectantly. She smiles at me, and then gasps when she sees the camera. She looks up quickly at the loft and then back at me. She knows.

"Were you just in that loft across the street?" she asks, more to herself than to me, but I answer her anyway.

"Yeah, I was." There's an awkward pause that seemed to linger, as both of us try to think of something to say. Finally, she sticks out her hand.

"I'm Maddie Parker. What's your name?"

"Mark. Mark Cohen." Once again, I'm a stuttering idiot. Why am I always so damn nervous?

"Well, nice to meet you, Mark. I'm guessing you're a filmmaker?"

"Yeah. Do you write?"

"Yes, I'd like to call myself a writer one day. For now, I study so one day I can teach."

"Oh yeah? Where? What subject?"

"I'm studying for a degree in music education at NYU. I'm looking to teach choir. Looking for a job, for inspiration." She looked at me. "For love." Any other woman trying that line would have failed, coming off slutty or corny, but Maddie manages.

"A good friend of mine's a professor at NYU. Maybe you know him- Professor Collins? He teaches Computer-Age Philosophy…"

"Oh yeah! I'm in that class. He's wonderful…"

"I can tell you're not a native New Yorker, though I must say you know how to dress for a New England winter," I say, eyeing the long heavy green coat that goes so well with her pale skin.

"I'm from South Jersey." she smiles at me. "You?"

"I grew up in Scarsdale, but don't hold that against me. The less said about them, the better. I don't think I would have pegged you for Jersey." I hate talking about my family, particularly to someone like Maddie, who I bet grew up in a well-adjusted home, unlike the nuthouse where my parents live.

"I won't ask you anymore about your family, then," she smiles knowingly. "You hungry? I haven't had anything to eat yet."

"Uh.." I reach into my pocket, praying I have some money left over from my last check from Buzzline. Crap. Nothing's there. "I don't think I can. I don't have any money."

"Don't worry. I'll get you something." I try to protest. "Mark, you're even skinnier than I am. And from the looks of that building, you probably can't afford much."

"All right," I gripe. "One plain slice, an order of fries, and a small Coke."

She grins. "Now you're talking."