the smuggler’s bible


Liese pauses in the parking lot, one hand on the roof of the car to steady her balance while the other digs in a pocket for her keys. The snow is glowing in a very cool and soothing way.

Shut up, I know not really. It’s light from the sun (where else?), caroming off the moon and landing smack dab on the scattered, muddy drifts outside Mixy’s Dead-End Gutterball Bar and Lounge like some kind of insane cosmic trick shot Satan made on a dare. Everyone is aware the snow isn’t actually glowing, Liese included.

Still, the effect is remarkable.