Shot of Love:

At first the air is the colour of brandy and then the colour of mud. Somewhere out there in the storm, station RZBD deep valley radio sends psalms out – flicking its own electricity out into the current thundering night. Weather like this… stop a man from thinking. He wipes a hand over his brow. It’s damp. Warm moisture over everything. Squints through the murk. He is alone. Trying to visualise a way out past the rain and out of the city. Out of the valley. Moving through the apartment past the table with the broken typewriter, the ashtray, the empty bottle and a copy of Time magazine. Looking out through the rain smeared window he dreams the dust bowl photographs of his youth.