The world is lit by lightning!
A long ramble about memories, avoidance, plays, movies, and—uh—ghosts.
It was raining, and it wasn’t supposed to rain, so she was wearing a white dress, and we were hiding under an awning on Cornelia Street in the West Village and we were wet because we’d run for shelter, but we had not run fast enough and we were laughing and waiting for the sto…
