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The shadows were her thread, and Juliette's hands the loom. Until that moment when I peeked through the haberdasher's window, I never realized that words could shift and crumble so dramatically, and yet, the small fragile place I had built turned to dust before my eyes, razed to the ground by darkness and a loving touch. And the man in the storefront window was what turned my eyes to the light.
As it was, the evening was late when I stepped out of the smoky bar, listening to the noise of fistfights and splintering chairs and shattered bottles behind me; and for the briefest of moments, I was lost, like a child staring blindly at the sun. I vowed that I would never again consume so much liquor that I took leave of my senses, but even as the promise left my mind and entered my heart, I wasn't sure that whiskey had anything to do with my disorientation. I couldn't remember ordering a drink or why I had been in the bar to begin with. Still, who went to a bar if not to sip at a beer or down a shot or two of tequila?
The line between life and death is thin, and it's made of silver and steel, I thought to myself stupidly as I contemplated my problem and aching head. I wasn't at all sure what that meant, and it scared me a little to be thinking in a gibberish that only Lewis Carroll would have understood.
Something definitely wasn't right, and I knew it. But I tried to push the thought out of my mind along with that bit about the line between this life and the next. The moon was bright and hot against my skin, and I didn't feel comfortable in front of the well-lit club. But at least it made me focus on something other than my own confusion. Hoping to clear my mind a little, I stepped intothe alley that ran beside the bar. Once I was completely immersed in the darkness like a man in the midst of sleep, I remembered where I was supposed to go-Juliette's shop. Never mind that it was the only place I could think of. It was the right place, and I went there with only vague remembrances of what I had done in that neon-lit bar.