His friends called him Jay, because he worked up with the birds. Jay rode skyscraper skeletons, where New York was flickering itself sullenly into being. A taste of steel lived in Jay’s mouth, scars on his arms, and no room anywhere. His world was girders, lines, oil. “Frosty,” they called him. He didn’t understand what love…

Two More Days Till the Angels There is an ocean, and a shore, and a man with a cat. The lighthouse looms strangely on the tallest part of the bluffs, the only thing man-made for long miles, crafting that beam to keep (most) ships away. It is an easy thing to think of and a…