THE CITY ATE THE MOON

The moon disappeared at 2:13 a.m. The local paper called it an optical phenomenon. My neighbor Mrs. Vale called it what it was: the city had gotten hungry.

By morning, every building on Mercer Street had grown a second row of windows. They blinked slowly, like someone pretending to be asleep.

At noon, a letter slid under my apartment door. It was addressed in my own handwriting: DON'T LET THE CITY LEARN YOUR NAME.