In the cities, parties start. It is the time of wine, of beer, and of vodka. It is the time of murder, of love, of passion.
In the more rural areas, thick quiet comes. Everything stops. A car dares break the silence every now and then--save for that, the silence remains unopposed.
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Mack was running a writing contest before I left. I haven't had time to finish the story, but it begins...
"I don't know when I fell in love with Night. Perhaps it was as a child on the farm, where her presence was a comforting dark quilt that hushed the air. Perhaps it was later, in the city, where men built towers to hold her back, and lit lamps to keep her at bay. Always she arrived, tranlating those towers and the lights and the people who thought to thwart her into her own posessions."
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Actually, in the more rural areas, the high school kids are driving out to the alfalfa fields to get drunk. They just know how not to be seen.
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