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When I got home, Robert was sitting on the futon watching
one of Sheila's videos, his feet in fuzzy slippers, a
martini in his left hand.
"If it isn't the six o' clock sadist."
The roof overlooked the entire city. There was no end to
it, heat lightning flashed beyond the transmission wires, a
subway train crossed the Williamsburg Bridge. In the
opposite direction an amusement park twinkled through the
street-lit marmalade-colored sky. Up above: one or two
stars, planes in line to land at La Guardia, the air heavy
with diesel smoke. Courtney rubbed her eyes.
"You can see the Earth's skin from up here," Louis said.
"Looks like a lot of acne."
I thought about the night gray ash fell from the sky like
snow, as if Heaven were on fire and this was the ashes of
angels. In the morning the entire city was covered with
powder. People roamed the streets wearing white masks,
unsure whether the ash was toxic. The imprints in the ash
made me think of footsteps on the moon.
-Michael Hornburg, "Bongwater"
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