It was a fairy tale area, that's what I was told. A girl proposed to another girl back there and she'd said yes. Other people had been seen making out. Hanging white Christmas lights reflecting through the windows. Old chalkboards or chalkboards made to look old, peeling paint, a broken swing. Twine was frayed and tied to things, leaves were everywhere and they'd only just begun to fall. And above your head the rafters, stars strewn sparingly in the sky, the moon behind the clouds. The moon is a harsh mistress.
A pretty girl looked at me, that was something. Earlier I'd heard her, she was talking, from Brazil, no accent, maybe she's moved when only a baby. She said wasn't it a picture, like something out of a book, something you might think would be annoying until you actually saw it, in the middle of it, until the leaves were on you, too. I said it was nice, I was jealous, and yes she was exactly right. She asked me to take a picture of her and her friends. I took some, too many, I think they started laughing. She took the camera back and turned her back on me and only turned around to say thanks.
I sat on a DIY table and took my phone out. There was a conversation from earlier I could pick up. There were maybe friends in the area. There were people I could talk to. There were so many people. The glow of the screen was brighter than any star or moon or whatever was left of their light through the rafters. And someone tapped me on the shoulder and said that weren't they right, and wasn't this place out of a fairy tale, and looking around I decided I didn't have a decent reason to disagree.
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