THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



"Is this going to last forever?..."

He sat facing the girl with his eyes lowered and his cheeks blush, making every attempt to withhold a smile. He looked up and became fixed only when she slowly blinked and lifted her eyes to meet his. He released the preserved smile from only a single corner of his mouth; she gently bit her bottom lip and mirrored him: her smile breathtaking. They whispered dreams and purposes and fears and rightness.

The deep reds and charcoal blues of night served as backdrop. A lone streetlamp shone its brilliance upon their faces as the evening air encircled them, yet failed to distress their ambiance, their magnificence.

Perfection, although rare beyond words, is thus the aforenoted with stars stacked in neatly aligned rows calling them into tomorrow.

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