![]() ![]() There wasn't any lights or people and very little noise. ![]() It occurred to me that this wasn't a particularly cool place to be, if he wasn't there. When I opened them, the Motorcycle Boy was gone. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for a second. He dropped his head on the table and held on to the edges, like he was trying to keep it from spinning around. "Isn't there anything he can't do?" Steve grumbled. The Motorcycle Boy won the game and they started in on another. "That," he said, "is the most depressing thing I have ever heard." In the dim smoky light he looked like a painting. He walked around the table, measuring his shot. "My, my, my," said the guy who was playing the Motorcycle Boy. He was writing a word I didn't even know he knew. Steve was adding to the carving on the table. The table was scarred and the plastic covering on the seats was ripped and leaking cotton junk. This didn't bother me, and it didn't seem to bother Steve either. ![]() The place was smoky and dark and full of black people. I didn't exactly know where we were, or how we got there, but I knew how long we'd been there-forever. We were watching the Motorcycle Boy play pool. "It's too bad you can't see what it's like." ![]() "Everything is so bright," I said, looking at the Motorcycle Boy. The Largest Ant Colony in the World Spans Four Nations ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |