Back at the window, Colm was numb. Benzodiazepines and selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors tend to have that effect. But his mind was still cranking, the machine was still recording and he knew the blinds should have been closed. The nurses were either distracted or negligent. Maybe there had been an emergency. He didn’t know.

The ward was dark. It was two twenty-six in the morning and Colm was standing on the eighth floor of Brooklyn’s Methodist Hospital. Beyond the inviolable window, the lights of the city, his city, New York, danced in the distance -- sending remote yet urgent messages of comfort. She was sleeping out there, an anxious yet flawless L, hurrying through her night so she could see him tomorrow morning.

He crossed back to his bed and lay down. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he would try to get some rest.



Publisher's Note

Rational Anthem Ivan Jenson

Just Like That Jennifer Mills Kerr

Dancing In The Shadows of Greatness Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Life slips Allison Whittenberg

The Dream Bruce McAllister

Debate in Seasons Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Ell Kyle Bradstreet

warm broken cookies Jessica Provencio

egomaniac Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Photo Circa 1969, The Art of Redaction Scott T. Starbuck

At The Special Olympics Sandra Ervin Adams