I'd spent the day in a nearby diner, working my way through the menu and waiting for the clouds to clear, praying that the bored and very cute waitress wouldn't start talking to me. In the black mirror of the coffee's surface, the gray sky trembled with the beating of my heart. And yet here I was, finishing my tenth cup of coffee in the crumbling parking lot of the old ferry terminal, armed only with my wits and a backpack full of Elvis memorabilia. The old Sarah wouldn't have been caught dead in Hoboken. Still, I shook my head when I found out where she was. Peeps always run from the things they used to love. No wonder she'd had to leave when the disease took hold of her mind. The rest of the world was a vast extension of her parents' basement, the last place she wanted to wind up. For her, New York was like another Elvis, the King remade of bricks, steel, and granite. I mean, Hoboken? Sarah was always head-over-heels in love with Manhattan. It turned out she'd been hiding in New Jersey, which broke my heart. After a year of hunting, I finally caught up with Sarah.
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