Veronica got up to switch off the lights and they sat looking down the canyon at all the houses in the West Hills, blue video traces in every other window. The coals of their cigarettes glowed and wavered.
Sam Donaldson was talking about the level of activity at the White House. He seemed more than usually sardonic, and Thea had the crazy idea that he must be amused, talking into a blank wall.
"I like it better that way," Veronica noted, gesturing with her cigarette at the reversed TV.
Eastgate
Fiction Nonfiction
Poetry Hypertext
Storyspace Tinderbox
HypertextNow Order