Saying the darkness of the night deepened when I pulled into Granite Rock would be like saying, “dancing with a half truth” was the same as “grinding with a lie”. Entering the limits of the town I left the strange silence and the sneaking away of the day and slammed into something so hard and absent that it made the sign and the desert seem like a casual drive on a breezy afternoon.
The night of Granite Rock was a hole filled with absence, the absence of even the darkness of night. The normalcy of the night didn’t exist here it had been ripped away, leaving a swarming dank murkiness around and between it--a deep, blank nothingness.
You could barely make out the stark face of the angry moon as it tore its way through the veil of bad tempered gloom and the stars desperate and haunting whispered into the dead night. And dead it was.
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