Ten o’clock and the moon hangs like a big fat zero in the sky. She remembers when full moon nights used to feel like something – the air both sharp and thick, and everything on edge – but this one seems to lack that quality. Maybe other people still feel it, but she doesn’t. She lies motionless on her front lawn, staring up. She is not lying there on purpose, but because she came out to get the wet newspaper, thrown there at dawn. She knelt down and touched the clammy pulpiness of the thing and it fell apart in her hand. And now she doesn’t have the energy to stand up again, to put foot in front of foot and make her way back into the house.
The man who lives in No. 24 thinks for a minute there is a dead woman
lying on the grass in front of No. 22, but then he sees the little puffs
of frozen air that mean she is still breathing. Full moon looniness, he
tells himself, and walks on, averting his gaze.
B R A V E S O U L S R E C E I V E
Archive of Recent Activities
Predictions for the 2001-2002
John Leary & Jim Ruland
The Need for Running Water