Posted by David Pierce on September 05, 1999 at 22:23:16:
The sun above this place is fleeting, uncertain of its immediate future. The houses of all who have made this place home are still and silent, extant but bereft of the merry presence of tenants. Wan light reveals sand-blasted placards and flags unravelling in snaps. An old notice of a wanted trade with a manuscript tumbles by, impaled on a dead thorn bush. Old signs bend in the cold dry wind. An attic door slams shut. But there, beyond the unmarked graves of old spammers, and beyond the rusted merry-go-round, is a cottage with a lantern in the window. Emboldened by this sight, I make my way forward and rap on the door. A bump from within-- I step back. The door slowly opens, revealing Patrick's grin....