May 5, 2004
Simone ran her fingers through her hair and peered down the block. The bus was still nowhere in sight, and the Harlem sun was beginning to make her feel light-headed. The light pounded down from above, glaring violently off the glass façades that rose above 125th, car windshields, reflecting back up from the glistening blacktop. Simone felt adrift in a maelstrom of light, her entire world a pulsing sea of burning white shards; nothing held any shape, any form – it was all light, burning into her eyes, her skin, even closed her world was light, tinged red from her blood.