all hands reaching
People gather under the loudspeakers in an open field on a grey afternoon. They think God is going to speak. They think He is going to make some sort of announcement. I turn away and head into the wind to the liquor store up the road. We have another hour until the first warning of nightfall. I flee with my brown bag back to the motel room. I drink myself sleepy, listen to the wind march through the day, watch the day reel in all the light from the room.