"Don't know why there are clouds up in the sky, stormy weather.."
It happened as if in a blink of an eye. A slight blip, no more than a fraction but significant enough to raise eyebrows. Then the covenant so sacred disintegrated into black.
Looking back, mark your calendar one day before the anniversary of what might have been fifteen years. A funny thing happened on the way to the forum. That afternoon, as Cyndi Lauper and her entourage stood outside across from the tavern at Catalpa and Broadway, the gods protested. And the sky belched, dark clouds shaped like fluffy hearts hurled many lightning bolts and in sympathy, car alarms wailed. Such a gesture in itself would foretell of the state of things to come. True, the heavens finally cooperated, casting bright afternoon sunshine afterwards, but the mechanism to turn the shrew into Cleopatra stabbed poor Mark Anthony in the back eight or nine times. Even Helga presciently counseled caution. Who knew then basking in the stark evening glow with tribesmen yelping a twirling cymballed hankerchief and twenty dollar bills wafting above our heads and Murderer's Row posing in tuxedos that a pair of rose-colored glasses could shatter so easily? Really so who is afraid of Virginia Wolf?
Count the wounded maybe.