Dreaming or wakeful, she’s magic Photo by Danny Trujillo on Unsplash Mark remembered two things about that night, one being the fog creeping up the slope from the distant riverbank, slinking like a gray cat among the trees, slithering down the narrow streets, creeping around houses with their curtain eyelids drawn in slumber. The other was his cell phone, guzzling electrons on the faux Jacobean nightstand while warbling the quiet tune that meant Stacey was calling.
