Lanterns

Each tiny fire made him feel so safe and so warm, as if a million cubic feet of darkness could be—had been!—dispelled by its minuscule strength. And they hung around him, close as his own thoughts. Even closer were the voices, which seemed to emanate not from the flickering faces but from a single body, beyond conversation and response, suspended in the air. This is the time, he thought (running his front tooth in circles against the rim of a beer), when the sun has let slip its last lingering touch and men are free to become great through the stories they tell in the company of others. Evening had fallen, and the summer, in the quietest of voices, promised to remain.

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