A City Dreaming by Daniel Polansky

usual.”
    Abilene gave the sort of smile that prefaces advice. It was mostly the only smile that Abilene offered, and it was not one of M’s favorites. “Aren’t you getting a little old for that?”
    â€œYou’re only as old as you feel.”
    â€œDon’t you suppose it’s time that you assumed the responsibilities appropriate to a man of your stature?”
    â€œI already told you: I don’t want a kitten.”
    â€œI’m not talking about little . . . Garcia? What do you think of that as a name?”
    â€œIt’s a bit on the nose.”
    â€œI’m talking about your obligations to the community at large.”
    M did not like communities, which were usually filled with people, whom M liked even less. “Flattering, Abilene, but you overrate me. I’m barely more than an apprentice. Just bumbling about, not getting into anyone’s way.”
    â€œPerhaps you’re foolish enough to believe that. You know that I’m not. If you stuck around long enough to put down roots, you’d be elite soon enough.”
    M thought that this was a lot like saying if a bird decided to swim it would be a fish. “You’re too kind.”
    â€œOf course, the thing about the major players is that they tend to tilt the balance.”
    â€œI almost feel like this is leading to something.”
    â€œHave you seen what she’s been doing to the place? The Village is nothingbut tourists! You can’t find a crackhead from Five Points to the Guggenheim! And don’t even get me started on north Brooklyn!” In her excitement Abilene had ashed the joint onto her rug.
    â€œI won’t. I promise.”
    â€œDon’t pretend you like it. I know you’re more mine than hers.”
    M liked to think he wasn’t really anyone’s, but again, one does not go disputing with the lion while resting in its den. “You know I’m on your team, Abilene. You can count on me if things ever go south. But I’m a gadfly, rowboating in a turbulent sea, and it’s the most I can do not to get swamped.” Some of this, chiefly the prepositions, weren’t even lies.
    â€œWon’t you ever bother to live up to your potential?” Abilene asked.
    â€œMaybe tomorrow,” M said, taking what was left of the joint.

9
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Love and the Modern Fae
    â€œWhat are you doing after this?” Anais asked, turning from a shared glance at Ibis, which would have concerned M had he seen it.
    M hadn’t seen it. His attention was mostly occupied by their waitress, formed in the lovely-but-disinterested-brunette mold. “Nothing in particular.”
    â€œFeel up for an excursion? We were going to go visit that goblin market off Classon.”
    â€œI didn’t know there was a goblin market off Classon.”
    â€œIt’s only in existence every seventeen years,” Anais explained, “when the Earth Dragon mates with Cancer. I’ve heard they have some lovely holiday ornaments.”
    â€œShould be a good time,” Ibis added, “if you’ve got the energy.”
    There is a school of thought that says that given the paucity of daylight hours in December, a man would do well to rise early and enjoy them. M did not hold with that view, but, disdainful of the sun’s modest offering, chose rather as a rule to stay in bed until near evening. The point being that, so far as M’s circadian rhythms were concerned, they had just finished eating brunch. “I think I can probably keep it up till midnight,” he predicted boldly. “So long as you don’t expect me to tap dance or anything.”
    Ibis was the sort of friend about whom M rarely found himself thinking. Actually all of M’s friends pretty much fell into that category, though the rest tended to run into rooms demanding his assistance too often for M to forgetthem completely. That Ibis’s life was comparably infrequently in