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Queen Kong narrates her obsessive love for a tiny human man she first sees sleeping in a skyscraper room on Manhattan. She describes staying in two quiet Village hotels, her fascination with pastrami on rye, and her initial encounter with the man as “love at first sight.” She watches him film a prize‑winning documentary, then leaves for New York. After he departs, she mourns, binge‑eats, and drinks river water until a red moon prompts her to retrieve him. She sails up the Hudson River one June night, prowls the dark streets of New York, and finally finds the man sleeping alone at 3 a.m. in his single bed, a blown‑up photograph of her above his head. She watches him, tears, and silently retreats through Central Park. The next day she purchases clothing and treats, then physically lifts the man from his room, dangling him between her fingers. She and the man spend twelve happy years together, sitting on the tip of the Empire State Building, saying farewell to the Brooklyn Bridge, yellow cabs, helicopters, and dragonflies. He sleeps in her fur, and she cares for him by massaging his eyes, blowing on him, scratching his back with her nails, and playing wooden pipes he made. When he eventually dies, she holds him all night, shakes him like a doll, licks his face, breast, soles, and his little rod. She then preserves his body, wearing it around her neck with tiny emeralds for eyes, proclaiming that no man has ever been loved more and that he may hear her roar even in death.