He looked over at John—under his blanket, on his side, hands under his head. Even with eyes closed, he wore a soft smile. This was unusual, but welcome.
The night bugs steered his mind, commandeered him back to Georgia. Way back, even before... her. It’s summer again and the streets are lamp-lit, hot, spilling over in celebration. A band plays and a storm taunts, schemes on the black horizon. It’s the last night of the carnival, and the moustached conductor drives the tempo faster to outsmart the rain.