Irish once had this restlessness. When she returned home a year ago, when she first joined the night scene of New York so closely, her heart suddenly throbbed as if in the sea of people or under a neon light, there was an encounter in the darkness. Then she followed Cassie to the bar and got drunk, but she could still feel the unusual throbbing when she was drunk.
And that night, the window outside was getting darker, and the chest throbbing was becoming increasingly obvious.
Her mind was engraved with the shadow of a man, tall and straight, standing under the streetlight, the goose-yellow light gently sprinkling his thick hair, his eyes as deep and black as his hair. He stood there quietly, but behind him was a steady stream of cars, setting off his growing quietness and transcendence.
Irish knew that the shadow in her head was Joseph.
When the hour hand pointed to eight o'clock in the evening, the telephone rang suddenly, startling Irish.
