When I left, it was win­ter. I had arrived on a clear cold August night. Stopping on the butte over­look­ing the canyon, I won­dered if there was any rea­son not to sim­ply con­tin­ue rid­ing north. To be con­tin­ued… First line cour­tesy of The Oracle. But yours won’t be the same.

Leonard Cohen — Machine of Death

Leonard Cohen The atten­dant held out the dis­tinc­tive yel­low and orange enve­lope. “Thank you Mr. Su” he said cheer­ful­ly as Kam took the enve­lope. “Have a nice day, Sir.” Kam stepped out of the arcade into the Pacific Avenue rush. He squint­ed against the low October after­noon sun. Damn, no sun­glass­es. He crossed the street to …