I laughed when the gods died out. One by one, they crawled off like dogs to die alone, and I danced on their unmarked graves.
I had something else ready for this column, but then I read a story in the New York Times with this opening paragraph: "It started with a Twitter message on Sept. 19: 'Roommate asked for the room till midnight. I went into molly's room and turned on my webcam. I saw him making out with a dude. Yay.'"
Years afterward, the whispers started. Starlight / turned them shrill as crystal in her head,
