“NOSTALGIA FOR THE LIGHT,” Howie Good
The beach is empty, but informers and false witnesses are everywhere.
The light filtering through the clouds is flecked with shadows, like the one-eyed cat’s good eye or a roadside bomb hidden among the garbage and the weeds and obsessively rehearsing what it’s going to say.
When it rains, how quickly my pockets fill up with water! I always think the same thing: You bastards, there are innocent people down here.