Nighthawks- An Essay

“His hair blew back from the high forehead, the brow furrowed as the grit of the city stung his eyes. There were no answers there, only more questions. She was a mystery, a lady in gray who moved in and out of his life with the subtlety of a song. The half-remembered lyrics of her hymn hanging in his mind and tugging at the corners, eager to draw him back in.
She was a Madonna in high heels and silk skin, an angel who tempted him, the curve of her smiling lips a promise of things to come. But the small sips of fine wine led only to a drunkenness that left him staggering blindly, always reaching to touch the strands of her hair, only to have it all slip away on the mist.”

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