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By William F. Wu
Mac Tom rocked back on pointed boots, dodging bluff and sweaty young stampedes past him crosswise on the corner. The Aysquare night was bluff and sweaty in the summer darkness, lit up Free Night neon over jammed human traffic. Davi Leiko was out here somewhere, if he could only find her.
Mac started across the street, into a light bit of breeze that cooled the flush of his face. Overhead, lines of partygoers floated nose first in astral form toward the old houses on the north side. Golden threads trailed after them, connected to their comatose bodies at home in bed. Just as they had divided and reconstituted themselves, Mac had defined and constructed Davi Leiko.
She was out here in the sea of laughing, conniving, bluff and sweaty bodies, if he could only find her. He could still retrieve her for fullness, if he got her back before midnight. He could still retrieve her to be the love of his life, if he could only find her before midnight.
“Hi, Phil. How are you?” A tall, smiling man in a black beard stopped on the sidewalk, oblivious to the jostling he took from the passing crowd.
“I’m not Phil. I’m Mac. But I’m fine, John. How are you?”
“It’s great to see you, Phil. Just great. Are you getting paid?”
“Uh — yeah. Sure. Bye, John.” Mac moved on, carried by the sweep of bluff and sweaty.
“Bye, Phil,” said John, still smiling white in his black beard.
John had not been brought to fullness.
Far overhead, beyond the storefront building, the clock tower shone grayish white against a deep and mystic sky. Midnight was an evening away.