Pam closes an eye, opens it and closes the other, thinking about what the art professor said once, on modern art and points of view. 

Christina's World has never been a favourite of hers but she's looking at the real thing now and yes, that feels different.

Plus, her eyes feel puffy and in a sort of masochistic way, opening and closing them makes her aware of the fact.

Christina's body seems to echo Pam's thoughts about her own actions. Reaching for something distant, but her soul not really into it. Half-heartedly reaching. As her stupid attempt to talkt to Jim, an hour ago.

Some tourists speak animatedly in what seems to be German and she lets them stand in front of the painting. Still Pam is drawn to Christina and her world and maybe she'll get a postcard to take back home with her.

Her steps took her around streets and avenues for a while, as she tried to remember every one of Jim's gestures while forgetting all her lame ones, not really paying attention to the buildings, the hot dog vendors or the tourists until finally she reached Bryant Park and she gasped.

She was there. In New York. With a day ahead of her or maybe even two. She fished one of the maps in her purse, looked at the tags over squares representing buildings, and finally made a real decision. 

Now, roaming the halls of the MoMA she feels oddly detached from everything. As if the Starry Night and Jackson Pollock were the only real thing, and Jim and Dundler Mifflin a figment of a crazy person's imagination.

And maybe it's for the best. Fancy New Beesly likes to paint, likes art, and she should enjoy it. 

Her rumbling stomach makes her leave the museum several hours later, only pausing at the gift shop to get the postcard and a magnet for her fridge. And then a sandwich and a muffin from Au Bon Pain.

Angst aside, it wasn't really difficult to drive here from Scranton and she swears she will do it more often.

She is surprised that it is late afternoon and for a moment considers getting a room in an overpriced hotel and giving the Met a go in the morning. But she shouldn't miss another day of work.

Calmly, she climbs down the stairs of the nearest subway station and imagines her home, and her easel and the half eaten tub of double chocolate ice cream in the fridge.

Pam drives home with her mind almost blank. As if she used the I-80 every day and this was not a big deal. As if her hopes didn't lay forgotten at some point between Scranton and New York.

Road. Trucks. Cars. Sun setting. And just silly music, soft on the radio.

It is dark when she finally makes it into the parking lot. It's been some weird couple of days but at least she's seen some art, and the city, and she’s glad she has a postcard and a magnet to remind her of this. But above all, she's glad to be home.

As she walks to her front door she sees a figure sitting on the steps. He raises his head the moment he hears her.

"Jim?" if she wasn’t this stunned, probably her heart would be beating madly at this point.

"Hey," he says, standing up and showing a smile that looks happy and relieved. He is still wearing that suit, but his hair is not as groomed and he looks tired.

"What are you doing here?"

"I uhm…" he scratches her neck and takes a deep breath. “I had this speech rehearsed, a smooth line I was going to tell you once I see you.”

He is quiet and she wishes she could read his mind. “And…?” 

“Well, you took some time,” he shrugs, still smiling. With a small step he approaches her. “It doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“I was at-” Pam started to explain, but it’s not really important. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

Jim’s smile is shy and he even ducks his head a little bit.

"Oh well… I know it's kinda late but… Pam, are you free for dinner tonight?"

Pam chuckles and it feels as if a knot on her throat loses. 

"Yes," she answers, her heart finally jumping inside her chest.

"All right then…" he takes one last step forward and takes one of her hands. "... it's a date."

Pam feels his arms circle her, finally, and she sighs in incredulous content.