Yes, Aloysius was tired. The thunder, though, the thunder in his ears would not let him rest.

He knew its origin. Its vibrating warmth enveloped him in its dark crimson blanket, spreading down his chest just as the chill grasped its way up from his toes. At what point will they meet, he thought, and tear open the void so I can fall through?

As Aloysius receded, the room grew larger above him. One man reached to close the space between; one woman smacked the opening wider. Another looked dumbfounded; his seated partner, found dumb by design.

He could not understand their words under the rumble rushing over him and he slipped farther down. He saw fingertips and a silver flash. He saw scuffed and caked soles. He saw sawdust and grime.

His eyes, at last, found Claudette.

Her lipstick-stained filter and its remains stoned down upon Aloysius's chest and, in that instant, his cigarette heart rekindled from the momentary spark.

He heard himself gasp.

Aloysius closed his eyes; he smiled. He was no longer tired. He knew where thunder went to die.

Claudette pushed her thumb on the tiny chrome lighter and bowed her head into the flame until it kissed the tobacco and paper.

"Now, children," she said, the smoke rising like a cobra enchanted, "the crows among us are equally black."

Comments

[Jett]

Oh mah Jesus, oh mah Jesus.

Way to bring it, kid.

[ms picket to you]

um yeah. wow.

[Susan]

Who are you people? How do you do these things? Love it.

[cIII]

Dude. Fucking hell.