The rain was black. Glistening asphalt like an engagement ring. Moon
shattered in the puddles of shame, shards in the faces of pools. Motor
oil slicks, cheap impressionistic cringes. Two dancers , Everest and
Edna McGuire. The gentleman wore white. His lover wore red, glided
across the parking lot. Glenn Miller was playing over the intercom that
blasted out into the cafeteria after the events in Sandy Hook. Everest
looked up to the heaven. Listen to those horns swing, he thought,
without noticing that the sky was empty.
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