On Night’s Plutonian Shore
I was halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge when the rain came down in earnest. It slashed down in horizontal slices that rendered my umbrella mostly impotent. Only a full-body parka or a diving bell had any hope of keeping me dry and I had neither on hand. The Manhattan skyline was dissolving in low-hanging murk. The Statue of Liberty was an old gray lady lost in a fog. It was only natural that my mind wandered, as my body plowed through the wet, towards darker, if slightly drier, climes.
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