“Come on in, Michelle. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. My eyes are open to you. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. The air was crisp and dry.
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