Through the cone of amber light cast by the streetlamp, skeins of rain unravelled off the spool of night above, weaving together into a stream that nearly overflowed the gutter. And there had been rumors that the folks up near monette had not received as much rain as those of us in the southern end of the county.
I would be alone in the hope that his friendship might go so far.
I fell into the blue fire that was her eyes.