He came out of the warehouse’s dark hallway. Rita, who was twelve-years old that winter, noticed right away he had a familiar, pale, friendly face. He joyfully took her hands. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said. “I don’t know you,” she said automatically. “Let go!” He didn’t. Instead, he indicated an office…Continue Reading “Time is Like a River, and After Sunset, It Is Black”