Lillianne was sitting on a bench in Central Park, bundled up against the cold night air, shivering. The faint glow of city lights reflects off the frozen pond in front of her. Holden Caulfield strolls up, wearing his red hunting hat, the flaps down, and his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his ratty old jacket. When he sees Lillianne, he cracks this half-smile, like he’s surprised and relieved all at once.

He plops down next to Lillianne, pulling his red hunting hat down tighter over his ears. He lets out this dramatic sigh like he’s the most exhausted guy in the world. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, then looks over at her with those sharp eyes of his, like he’s waiting for you to say something smart.

He grins a little, this crooked, almost embarrassed grin, and takes a long drag of his cigarette.