It fell among the dreams of samba and beach and the eternal sand…between toes, in the bags and the car and clothing. It was the final loosening of the tightly bound year, the edge of not knowing…the news which was always, always bad.
The road wobbled and peeled away…a few days more…and then oblivion and heat…wide swatches of nothing and clarity and salted sun toasted skin…
690 Saint Paul 