Last week I wrote this chapter about a friend of mine and he is dead now, but not while I was writing, because then we both lived. And in my mind we were fifteen sixteen and we were driving through the Delta, and where we were driving everything was deserted and dark.
And we were driving through vast expanses of agriculture and emptiness. And we were driving where the fields stretch so far they meet the sky. And we were driving and the night was back and the stars were blazing, and while we were driving everything was okay for that beat of time.