In Coronado that night when the water was flat on Glorietta Bay and when the moon caught the ripples on its way up it was like the end and the beginning all at once. The moorings on Glorietta Bay were quiet. The wind was still.
Everything else in America was far away that night which was probably for the best because they were still squabbling in Washington and few of them seemed to be moored to what mattered.
A lot of them were more interested in sinking than swimming and in the end it didn’t matter because the moon rose and the winds stayed calm on Glorietta Bay. It didn’t matter because they were no longer with us, swept out to sea in their own cruel currents of irrelevance and shame.