Jack Delleto walks out the door of the bar into wind swept gloom. The rain has finally turned to snow.
The snow covers everything, it covers the abandoned cars, the vacant houses, the sidewalks and the cracks. The city, Jack Delleto imagines, is an adjectiveless word. A book without shape or dimension. He steps off the curb into the gutter, into white nothingness. He starts walking.
Jack vanishes into empty pages.
