"John and Erica had reached the pinnacle of their shared dreams after years of hard work, back stabbing, sabotage, and genuine charm. The nights alone bent over the mirror, catching a glimpse of their alarmingly emptying souls before the massive snort that burned their septums, the head flung back to smile at the sheer adventure of it all, seemed just like yesterday. Looking over the shoulder at the vast lit Grid that had brought them vast wealth and friends to many to count, John lit the kerosine torch as Erica's hand slid around his waist. The pool of Rubbing Alcohol that Manuel, Enrique, and Jose had spent all day filling up in the hot sun never looked so beautiful, so inviting."

-from the forth coming novel Dreams of the Grid by Clyde Bloom. (pic courtesy of Hackett Freedman Gallery)