Kaye and her mother had been staying at her grandmother’s a week already, and even though Ellen kept saying they’d be leaving soon, Kaye knew they really had nowhere to go. Janet exhaled ghosts of blue smoke and took another drag on her cigarette. Her glitter makeup sparkled under the street lamps. She stepped over the overflowing, leaf-choked gutter, wobbling slightly on fat-heeled platform shoes. She spun again, dizzily, not caring that her skirt was flying up over the tops of her black thigh-high stockings. She loved the serene brutality of the ocean, loved the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air. It was so good to be able to breathe, Kaye thought. The moon was high and pale in the sky, but the sun was just going down. Waves tossed themselves against the shore, dragging grit and sand between their nails as they were slowly pulled back out to sea. The air was heavy and stank of drying mussels and the crust of salt on the jetties. Kaye spun down the worn, gray planks of the boardwalk. MINA LOY, “MOREOVER, THE MOON,” THE LOST LUNAR BAEDEKER
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