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“Drizzle,” Posy said. “Drizzle drizzle drizzle drizzle drizzle drizzle drizzle...”
It was drizzling. Early afternoon. Posy
Pendleton watched beads of precipitation sparkle across the singing neon above
her head: LIVE NUDE GIRLS in dazzling phosphorescent color, bathed in popping
aqueous jewels. Humming, trilling. She stared at the sign, hypnotized by its
celestial beauty.
“Drizzle drizzle drizzle...” The word had
lost its meaning. It had puffed into an amorphous blob, a hazy shape of faded
contours and air. “Drizzle.”
