The Lighthouse at Two Lights, 1929 by Edward Hopper
What I mourned most was a bound monograph on the painter Edward Hopper... one I'd always admired for the simply embossed name on the spine. Now that too had disappeared, changed into a heparin flush kit for the Hickman port in Emerson's chest.
The hillside came alive with shouts as an open-top car rolled onto the track. Behind each of the front wheels, a bunch of metal octopus legs came together and merged into a fat drainpipe along the side of the car.