Twice, our knees knocked. And we traced the sky. And bought (yes, you can’t deny it, we were greedy) little sugary chunks of the night that flapped between our gums. The little boys raised their arms in white sleeves and stepped in time, sliding through some kind of wood floor chipped by somebody’s mother’s comb. We sat on French-window-like upturned logs and we quietly and sadly ate what we saw of the stars.
