“No, no,” the slim woman said, looking out at the scattered crowd eating pizza and toying with microphones in a far Northwest Side rental hall. “Stay where you are. Do not break the stillness of this moment.”
No one did, not the microphone tinkerers, the laptop typist nor the woman running line-by-line through a Braille transcript of the slim woman’s words.
“For this is a time of mystery, a time when imagination is free and moves forward swiftly, silently. This is… The Haunting Hour.”
And the music swelled.
“The Thought,” she said, taking a step backwards from the first of four mics. » Read the rest of this entry «
