For a moment, I was that shape, inside it. The shape of a man, a smallish man, with a hard belly and calloused feet. He was hatless and cold as the rain slid down his shoulders and slopped on his boot tops. He was shirtless under his jacket, and his pants were torn and charcoal-stained. There was an ache in his bones from so much travel; walking was all that soothed him, other than fire. The flames filled his veins; walking soothed his need to be anywhere but where he stood.
Excerpt from the forthcoming novel A Very Tall Summer