was instead dripping down into it, two stories below us. I looked up.
It was past ten o’clock, but I’d never seen the city look so blindingly bright.
I could see everything: the green moss on the boulders in the river below; the golden frothy bubbles at the base of the waterfall;
the trees in the distance bent over the water like the roof of a chapel; the power lines sagging across the river below us;
a great silver grain mill absurdly still in the moonlight; neon Speedway and Chase Bank signs in the distance.
Indianapolis is so flat you can never really look down on it; it’s not a town with million-dollar views.
But now I had one, in the most unexpected place, the city stretching out below and beyond me,
and it took a minute before I remembered that this was nighttime,
that this silver-lit landscape is what passed, aboveground, for darkness.
Daisy surprised me by sitting down, her legs dangling over the concrete edge.
I sat down on the other side of the trickle of water, and we looked at the same scene together for a long time.
We went out to the meadow that night, talking about college and kissing and religion and art,
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