...The Weeping Song. The last song of the night. Time to go somewhere. Where? Time to go. The record spins on the deck. Focus. The only light is the light on the needle, searing the vinyl. The vinyl bobs. Focus on the light, but it’s moving. This is the Weeping Song. I raise my glass. I look at it closely. I examine it. Maybe it holds some kind of secret; an answer to a question I haven’t thought of. The contents are emerald, precious, glinting in that tiny light, the only light in the bar, the only light in the world.