Murdo counted ten empty houses. The series of stone dykes defending fields from the sea had been chewed by several winters of wind and ice. Ernol stood in the wind of an open ocean, and, without its human numbers, hands whose habit it was to put stones back, it was slowly losing its human shape. ...
He’d been with Cole, and hadn’t showered. He was tacky, reeking, sated, but depressed. He’d caught the streetcar that came up Pacific Avenue, not the one that stopped on the Venice shore. He was taking the long way home, thinking. He was on a dark stretch of road, at a poi...
