The crunching of tires on the gravel access road that skirted the reservoir. Save for the moon's silvery white reflection on the reservoir and the dim bulb above the door of the pump house, which wasīut the sound didn't lie. Want to stop now, not until he had finished the tag with one uninterrupted stroke.īut then he stopped-when the sound of an engine was heard above the hiss of the spray can.
The smell reminded him of the sock in his pocket and he thought about getting high. They were sensations that were comforting to He heard the hiss of the escaping air and could sense the roll of the marble. Smooth strokes, moving his whole arm while gently rolling his wrist. Experience and long practice told him it was good. The boy couldn't see in the dark, but he didn't need to.
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