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The Sin-Planters believed wild spaces were more holy than any church a man could build?
Their branches curved above him like the blackened ribs of some monstrous creature, the ancient bones of a beached megalodon.
First comes love, then comes miscarriage, then comes Willy with a lonesome bottle of red in a baby carriage.
The unfairness of it angered Willy. It made him want to strangle someone. God, perhaps. Give him some nails—Willy would crucify the unjust bastard all over again.
The universe had settled into the business of taking things away from him:
