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Under
the
fluttering
moth
light
in
the
street
Douglas
’
s
face
was
milky
as
he
stared
at
the
card
and
turned
it
,
rustling
,
trying
somehow
to
put
words
on
it
.
"
She
ran
out
of
ink
.
"
"
She
never
runs
out
of
ink
!
"
He
looked
at
Mr
.
Black
sitting
there
finishing
off
his
bottle
and
cursing
,
not
knowing
how
lucky
he
was
,
living
in
the
arcade
.
Please
,
he
thought
,
don
’
t
let
the
arcade
fall
apart
,
too
.
Bad
enough
that
friends
disappeared
,
people
were
killed
and
buried
in
the
real
world
,
but
let
the
arcade
run
along
the
way
it
was
,
please
,
please
.
.
.
Now
Douglas
knew
why
the
arcade
had
drawn
him
so
steadily
this
week
and
drew
him
still
tonight
.
For
there
was
a
world
completely
set
in
place
,
predictable
,
certain
,
sure
,
with
its
bright
silver
slots
,
its
terrible
gorilla
behind
glass
forever
stabbed
by
waxen
hero
to
save
still
more
waxen
heroine
,
and
then
the
flipping
waterfalling
chitter
of
Keystone
Kops
on
eternal
photographic
spindles
set
spiraling
in
darkness
by
Indianhead
pennies
under
naked
bulb
light
.
The
Kops
,
forever
in
collision
or
near
-
collision
with
train
,
truck
,
streetcar
,
forever
gone
off
piers
in
oceans
which
did
not
drown
,
because
there
they
rushed
to
collide
again
with
train
,
truck
,
streetcar
,
dive
off
old
and
beautifully
familiar
pier
.
Worlds
within
worlds
,
the
penny
peek
shows
which
you
cranked
to
repeat
old
rites
and
formulas
.
There
,
when
you
wished
,
the
Wright
Brothers
sailed
sandy
winds
at
Kittyhawk
,
Teddy
Roosevelt
exposed
his
dazzling
teeth
,
San
Francisco
was
built
and
burned
,
burned
and
built
,
as
long
as
sweaty
coins
fed
self
-
satisfied
machines
.
Douglas
looked
around
at
this
night
town
,
where
anything
at
all
might
happen
now
,
a
minute
from
now
.
Here
,
by
night
of
day
,
how
few
the
slots
to
shove
your
money
in
,
how
few
the
cards
delivered
to
your
hand
for
reading
,
and
,
if
read
,
how
few
made
sense
.
Here
in
the
world
of
people
you
might
give
time
,
money
,
and
prayer
with
little
or
no
return
.
But
there
in
the
arcade
you
could
hold
lightning
with
the
CAN
YOU
TAKE
IT
?
electrical
machine
when
you
pried
its
chromed
handles
apart
as
the
power
wasp
-
stung
,
sizzled
,
sewed
your
vibrant
fingers
.
You
punched
a
bag
and
saw
how
many
hundred
pounds
of
sinew
were
available
in
your
arm
to
strike
the
world
if
it
need
be
struck
.
There
grip
a
robot
’
s
hand
to
Indian
-
wrestle
out
your
fury
and
light
the
bulbs
half
up
a
numbered
chart
where
fireworks
at
the
summit
proved
your
violence
supreme
.
In
the
arcade
,
then
,
you
did
this
and
this
,
and
that
and
that
occurred
.
You
came
forth
in
peace
as
from
a
church
unknown
before
.
And
now
?
Now
?
