The bed is soft. The blanket is heavy. The frame is solid.
There are shadows above.
The plaster is coated in them. Oily, roiling darkness.
There's a million things in the dark. There's everything in the dark.
There's a man in the dark. Not all of a man, but enough of a man. He's broad and tall but he moves like a serpent, swaying, sinuous. He's moving, undulating.
He dances.
He danced. He danced, and people
supple skin beneath his lips
fell in love.
The man dances, and the shadows are thinning. He dances, and Pete can nearly see his face. He dances, and
it's so bright.
The sun's in his eyes. Streaming in through the window.