At that exact moment, 6-0-0, the sun climbed over the skyline of oaks, revealing its full summer angry-god self. Its reection ared across the river toward our house, a long, blaring nger aimed at me through our frail bedroom curtains. Accusing: You have been seen. You will be seen.

O’ melancholy,hectic chill for human soul,herewith dismal presence,any spirit does descent.

I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.

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