Late afternoon. A great blast of sunlight through the fog and trees. The soft, white light of Heaven. The Asian lady in the blue gown danced with me on the overpass. We danced through the static of the portable radio. A preacher's faint voice sometimes crackling through the static. We shared a bottle of wine and a pair of binoculars. My arm around her waist. My hand on her hip. We took turns scanning the horizon through the foggy sunlight, searching for a trace of my father's ghost wandering the empty parking lots of Heaven.