“Whatcha doing here, kid?”
“Hangin’” Faith tells the sailor. “Watching.” She squats on the thick coil of rusty chain, stares at the way the sunset’s turning the docks blood-red, like the sky’s been gutted. “Beauty in pain,” she says, like it’s important.
Shrug. Uncertain grin. “If you say so.”
Faith’s patient, fists clenched to stop the shaking. Tries to explain about the water soaking up bleeding sky.
But he laughs, steps closer, touching. “Shit, you’re tripping. It’s 3am. What’re you on?”
Things her mouth can’t make him understand. So she shows him how she’s learned to make the sun set.