Looking up at the bright, white sphere illuminating the night onename crept into her thoughts. Selene, it seemed oddly fitting given thesituation. Wit... the problem of what exactly to call herself taken careof now there was still the problem of what exactly to do with herself.Right then more than anything else she wanted to get out of thatapartment. Alex may have been fine with staying in, but Selenecertainly wasn't. She wanted to go out, explore the city, live alittle. The night was dazzling. The babies are always loud. I think they shout so much to blow the smoke away from their eyes. The mothers are the weepiest, the elderly distant salutatorians. Tiny girls. Tiny women. Tiny mothers, with their tiny mistakes, refusing to accept that the party is over, that they can’t apologize or write an essay or do community service to get away with their particular error in judgment. Some of them have embraced motherhood, with a pathetic grasp, and those ones don’t cry. They plot. There are. More

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