Devouring Moon
Warm night in the Solipaz hills was less solid than Ransome Farrell expected. Stars spackled the velvet above far as eyes saw. From north relentless perimeter lights demarcated the maquiladoras and silhouetted the Mexican city’s downtown. Distant brightness aside, Farrell had been correct about area illumination. Those few working streetlamps half-heartedly chased darkness in crapshoot patterns. Random TV glow, weak houselights squeezed through hovel wall cracks or past puckered curtains,...