Thoughts on the death of Lorca, with a bow to Borge
by Gregg Thompson

He considered the fact of strangeness as he walked up the hill, that the air felt strange on his face, that the night darkness seemed less dark and with a gray tinge. No one else recalls that night, except for the old lady who found those letters. They seemed to have been written years before. They were addressed to her dead husband and they used words like “love” and “want” and “need” and “must have.” And it bothered her that her husband had kept them, that the letters were not dated, that the women was unnamed. And she had almost decided to burn them.
_______He was alone on the short trudge up; they had left him at the bottom of the hill and had told him he would meet others at the top. As he reached the first lip of the top, he turned and saw that the moon was big and on the horizon, and that it was very white. He realized that he was shivering and in cold sweat. He turned back and continued up and waved at the first figure he recognized.

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