Feelings by Alexander Girshin 

The MOON was shining, is shining. It's as bright as a single headlight of a car stranded at the side of a desolate road somewhere in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in middle America. Middle America because I’ve been there and I know what it looks like at night when my car was stuck at the side of the road in the dark during a cross country road trip.
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Sgt. Tim Halloran leaned over the hospital bed where the boy in the coma lay. He insisted on seeing every overdose victim personally, to remind himself of why he fought the fight he did. This was the second victim of cob he had seen today. The fifth this week. The three hundredth this year alone. But still, each case got to him.

Sitting in front of the Apple screen, searching scouting relentlessly for a new home. My darling lounging in the other loft side, blanketed in Marin dark amongst our quilted necessities. Twang-ah! Bwang-a bwang! Do you like that sound? he asks to me; he is barely illuminated by the tree shuttered sky light.