Collide

                                                                                                           

Rows and rows of white townhouses were like steps beneath the hanging quarter moon and dotted stars. Dorman Knott elbowed through people in suits, cashiers with name tags pinned to their shirts, and others in blue jeans, hard hats, and boots. He weaved his way around parents who clung to children’s hands with the odd child in a baseball cap. Why the child wore a baseball cap, he didn’t ...