* * *
There is something confining about the orange glow of a streetlight on a cold, starless, but clear night. Particularly a streetlight with the cover busted off so it shines dull orange instead of the normal halogen yellow of the others in the lot. It is the only busted one out there.
* * * *
“If you sit on a curb long enough, staring into the blackness of the sky, the black that surrounds but doesn’t overtake the orange light, you start to see things. Things you may not want to see.”
Sam sat, stretched out, between the perfectly diagonal whites lines in the parking lot of Sears. His hands propped him up on the ground, damp from the rain earlier that day. Most of the water had dried up, but the asphalt remained damp.