And then, a couple seconds later, when we realized the light was only the shining moon rising over the peaks, we began laughing so hard that my parents heard and stumbled out into the front yard. It was finally going to show me the horrifying wiring that lay just behind the visible universe and that was inside of me too. I knew this was the thing that was going to come and get me. We stood there, clutching our heads, screaming. My friend and I became frightened, and as the light poured from the crest, our murmurs turned into screams. It looked like a single floodlight and then a tight swarm beginning to leak over the edge of the summit. But this glare, blinding and colorless, grew at an alarming rate. While kicking down the asphalt we saw a small bright light appear at the top of the peaks, near where we knew radio towers to occasionally emit flashes of red.

Far beyond the end of the road was a mountain range, and at that time of evening it flattened into a matte indigo wash, like a mural. Once when I was about twelve I was walking down the dead-end road in Albuquerque where I grew up, around twilight with a friend.

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