Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. "The part was crooked," she explained. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. It gave him plenty of time to obsess over his random crushes, which worried her.
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