I see all of San Francisco from the summit of Mount Haleakalā.
It is dawn and a dense fog settles as a crown around my head.
A jagged crack slaps my face.
Matthew turns to ask:
“What is the total of every moment ever spent?”
An angel with a sword appears and stabs him in the heart.
“What a peculiar idealist!” I say.
Matthew dies and together we spread his ashes.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved