The winter of Frankie Machine

56

Dave Hansen sits at his desk, staring out the window at the buildings of downtown San Diego.

Rain pelts the window like little stones. Occasionally, a gust of wind brings the rain in sheets, striking the glass with a sound like a flock of birds flapping their wings, taking off as if something had startled them.

Most days, you can see the ocean from this window.

And the ridges of Tijuana, across the border.

Today, he can barely see across the street.

It’s all just fog and rain.

Tears for Frankie Machine.