The sun was high over the cliffs to the east when the riders appeared. They came on so fast and furious that it was all the Confederate soldiers in Mesilla could do to rouse themselves, grab their weapons, and take up positions around the town in time to meet the attack.
During my purgatory in the limbo of the art world (or was it my limbo in the Purgatory?) I encountered a certain great artist three times. Three times I spoke to him. Three times I might have elevated my status, if only in my own mind, by sustaining a brief, pleasant conversation.