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1-7-01
Fragments
Out Of the Dark

The day had been oppressively hot. It was now two or three o'clock in the breathless hours of a bus stop night. I say bus stop because I know the same bus will inevitably again broadside me on schedule before I will ever be able to recover from tonight's state of shock or numbness. I describe it as a bus because one does not associate predictable encounters with a Mack truck on a specific schedule night after night. This was a way of life, a real-life twilight zone; a place of distorted reality and distorted love loyalties.
In those early hours I slowly became aware of the reprieving morning breeze that lofted the ghosts of white sheer curtains almost to the ceiling. What drew my attention to this silent happening was the slight cooling of the sweat on my body and it aroused me. I left my mother's side to bathe my body in the incoming flow of the invisible. As I looked out the bay window and up to the street corner under the canopy of billowing sheers I could see the traffic lights indifferently changing from red to green. Even they had no purpose on the vacant streets of this vacuous dimension other than doing what they were wired to do. Though they would be warm to the touch they didn't care about anything about anything other than their own>