The face – his face – looked familiar, familial.
Let there be light, and there was light. And that is when creation stopped in the Ia Drang. There, it was only chaos and light. Except for the nights. Then, it slipped back into the dark and then all was chaos.
...of course, there was no one to hear him say this.
mrs. weissman... teeth... congealed beef. darkness. no dreams.
And there you are: outside the window. Outside, looking in. Outside, leaning against the naked tree.
And then you got in your car, rumbled over the curb, and there I was: in your headlights.
One thing, not quite the same as the other, regardless tends toward that other.
The world does not know me, he repeated. The world does not know me, he said again and mostly to his nearly-full glass of wine.
That young crooner, now dead, warbles on forever in the dark grooves of the vinyl...
Leaves 