Читать книгу Orrery - Donna Kane - Страница 11

What a way to leave Florida— an aluminum bloom hot enough to pop corn after three scrubbed launches and thinning crowds. Past belts of rock chips, I knew you were tense as parents with your shirts starched white as Styrofoam cups, smoking non-stop as I circumnavigated the dark side of Jupiter before zipping back letters, then shooting off for good. My batteries dimmed, your hearing strained, I know I still haunt the glow of your night lights, and you know the data on your pulsing blue screens is not how things appear to me.