Over here men drink because they are lonely; and when they drink too hard and too long, they wind up on the beach. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. It must be the dawn creeping in.
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