This story makes more sense if you've read Tunnel of Love and Telling Anna you love her the first time, and the other Anna stories I've put here.

No matter how good things are, eventually they're not.

It happens after we’ve been married about five years. It starts with a phone call.

It’s Saturday and I’m home alone watching cartoons, eating breakfast cereal instead of a sensible lunch. Anna’s out in the field somewhere. She has been working for the EPA and now she’s with a team on the trail of a polluter who’s dumping tons of spent printer toner cartridges and other office supplies into the Shark River estuary. I haven’t seen her since last Monday, but we’ve been exchanging messages on the answering machine promising in vain to make time for ourselves as soon as our latest projects are over.

It doesn’t look good for us getting together. I’m leaving for a two-week trip to Europe on Monday and she may or may not be back by then. But I’m very comfortable with this. We’re both earning a living. Someday this kind of work will be over and we’ll sit back and have the kind of life we want. Someday.

The phone rings. “Is Annie there?” A female voice.

I explain the situation. I’ll take a message.

“Why this is Meg,” she says in reply, as if I should know her. I’m a little embarrassed, racking my memory but absolutely not remembering Anna ever mentioning someone named Meg when she asks, “Is this Mitch?”

Obviously Meg has heard of me. “Yes it is.”

“Mitch! This is Meg Matthews. Meg and Jeff.” My hesitation makes her toss in more data to prompt a memory I’m sure isn’t there. Had they been at my wedding and I’d forgotten? “Don’t you remember Annie talking about the Saugarties retreat? Woodstock?”

I can’t remember a thing, but telling her seems rude. Anna once mentioned something about a camp she once went to up there. Meg sounds like one of the her college friends from that time, a crowd I never fit into very well, ebullient, perpetually namedropping. I figure Meg and Jeff are some of Anna’s friends she must have told me about and never became important enough to remember.

“Oh yeah,” I say, to Meg, promising myself I’ll ask Anna about her the next time we speak.

“So are you guys settled in now? Living the domestic married lifestyle?” And she laughs as if she’d made a joke.

“Well, if you mean do we only see each other when we bump into each other in the bathroom in the morning…” I say.

“Or when you’re doing the horizontal mambo,” Meg says, laughing again, and I’m taken aback for a moment. Then I remember what it had been like when I’d first started seeing Anna. She was quite open about everything, and especially talkative about sex. She seemed to take fiendish delight in making me blush at gatherings where I was the only one who had been brought up to believe sex was something you bragged about in the football team locker room when you were a kid, but kept to yourself as an adult.

I try to readjust. “Yeah,” I say, trying to fake a laugh. “Even then, if we leave the lights off we might not see each other.”

Meg finds that as funny as her own comments. Then she asks, “Well, when does she come back?” and I explain that our domestic lifestyle was in effect at that moment. Anna’s working and I’m home watching Mighty Mouse wondering if we’d be together for dinner.

“Well, listen,” Meg says. “Jeff and I are going to Atlantic City for the long weekend. We’re meeting with a few friends from the group Anna will surely want to see again. It's been so long. It’s going to be a reunion. We have a nice suite at Harrah’s and we're sure you guys want to join us for an evening or two of good old fashioned debauchery.”

I remind myself that anything could be possible with Anna’s friends. They were the people who wound up on the news for naked mid-winter beach swimming, or running marathons in evening gowns—even the men.

Because I have to travel I’ve forgotten that Monday was a national holiday and a lot of people have off. Meg and Jeff probably have a multi-day outing planned. I imagine them piling all of their disposable incomes into slot machines and drinking until they are too blind to light their blunts. It would be uncontrolled. It would be irresponsible and possibly illegal.

I’m usually cautious when it comes to these people for exactly those reasons and she’s always calling me on it—declaring me too engineery, too white-collar, conservative. Not this time. Today I think for myself and she’s going to be proud of the risk I’m taking. This is exactly what Anna and I need to get us back together long enough to send me off to Europe calm and centered.

“Sure, we’ll be there. We probably can’t make it tonight. I don’t know when Anna will be home. But I’ll get us there tomorrow. I have to catch a plane for a business trip to Europe Monday afternoon.”

“Great!” Meg said. “I hope your flight isn’t too early.” She laughs again and gives me the particulars. We’re to show up around 8:00PM and ask for the suite booked by a group called “Friends of Margo”. There’ll be music, dancing, and food. We’ll have occasional gambling and the company of each other. We can even stay the whole night in the suite. There’ll be plenty of room.

“Sure. Great.” I’m echoing.

It’s fine with me. I’ll ignore all the innuendo I don't understand and just “go with it” as Anna often advises. I ask what we should bring with us, not wanting to appear to be mooching off the hospitality of people I didn’t know. Meg said Anna had been to plenty of their gatherings and knew exactly what to bring, but if I had any special “toys” they were welcome.

I have no idea what to make of the comment other than to worry they presumed I’d have my own purple bong, but I've stopped caring. I’ll drink beer. I’ll reduce my stress. I might even try to dance.

Anna answers my page from a phone booth. The sounds of car and boat engines nearly drown her out.

“Meg Matthews called?” Anna sounds concerned, but I can’t tell for sure with all the background noise. “What did she want?”

“She invited us to a party in A.C. and I said ‘yes.’ It’s a bunch of your old college friends I don’t know but I don’t care.”

“Are you sure about this? Did she tell you what kind of party it was?”

“What do you mean, ‘what kind of party?’ It’s a reunion of some old friends of Margo. Look, I said ‘yes’ because you’re always telling me I need to loosen up and right now I’m about ready to snap. Work is killing me. We never see each other anymore…”

“But you hate going out with my old friends,” Anna says.

“I know, but if this gets us in the same place at the same time…” I can’t understand her. Why she doesn’t jump at the occasion.

I don’t care. I’m driving now. “Make sure you don’t make any plans for tomorrow. We have to get there by eight.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“What’s there to be sure about?” Then I improvise. “We’ll get a room down there and stay the night. I’ll leave straight from there to the airport. Meg says they have a huge suite and there’s even room for us if we want to stay there.”

“It’s just…” she hesitates. Something’s wrong.

“What?” I say, trying to coax her. “Are you going to tell me you can’t break away from work for one lousy night?”

She mumbles something I can’t hear. Then she says it again louder, but I still can’t hear it above the roar of an engine in the background. There’s something about “those people” and “that thing”.

“Are these people your old doper friends?” I ask. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No, not that…” and then it gets hard to hear her again.

At least they weren’t going to get me arrested. I’m feeling better about the party and increasingly worried Anna’s going to wind up working all weekend and I won’t see her at all before I leave for Europe.

“If you’re sure it’s what you want.”

None of it computes, but I don’t care. Someone has to decide. Someone is me this time.

From that point forward we communicate more as business acquaintances than spouses. We exchange voice messages on a variety of recorders and pagers. Anna gets stuck in the New Jersey Pine Barrens with her investigation crew and winds up spending the night in a roach motel beside the highway. Then Rosenberg calls me and told me I have to be at a pre-trip meeting first thing Sunday morning. The customer has come into town suddenly and the deal looks as if it might fall through. We have to settle it before we get on the plane on Monday.

I’ve packed and gone to work before Anna gets home Sunday morning. Through voice messages we agree we’ll drive separately to Atlantic City. She’s close and she’ll stop at a store on the way in to pick up party supplies. I pick up the messages during brief breaks in the heated business meeting at the office. She asks me questions that seem incongruous. Are we going to have to stay? What did I want to sleep in? She’s going to have to stop and pick up lingerie; did I want anything special?

I’m thinking—you have to stop for lingerie? Cool. Way cool. Anna in one of those gorgeous uncomfortable teddies could melt solid steel. "Surprise me.”

The meeting breaks at 6:00PM Sunday night and just when I think I’ll have enough time to make the two hour drive down to Atlantic City, someone suggests we take the customer to dinner. My stomach drops through my heels and no amount of complaining convinces Rosenberg to let me go.

“You’ve got to build a relationship,” he says in the company rest room. “You can’t do this kind of business by telephone.”

“But we’re going to be in the Netherlands at his office on Wednesday. What’s the big deal about tonight?”

“We don’t want to leave him by himself. He’s all alone.”

I tell him my wife is all alone in Atlantic City.

“Don’t fight me on this, Mitch,” Rosenberg says, straightening his tie, running a comb through his thinning hair. “Not now.”

Goddamned comb-over son of a bitch...

I relent and suffer through the abominably slow service at the restaurant. Then I drive to Atlantic City and get there just as the hands on my watch meet on the twelve, and I hope that being distracted with her friends will keep Anna from being furious with me. There’ll probably be enough time to say ‘hello’ and a quick ‘goodbye’ to everyone and we’d go to our room to crash. I was exhausted and I knew I’d have to find a way to convince Anna I haven’t arrived late because I’d chickened-out and decided at the last minute to skip the party. I’d wondered what lingerie she’d bought. I hope she’ll stay awake long enough for us to make love. And I dread having to set the alarm for five thirty.

It isn’t hard to find the white hulking casino building. It sparkles in the dark like the mother ship landed in a swamp. Cars pull up and discharge well dressed passengers who seem completely oblivious to the hour. This was a place where time had been warped by money and desire into a perpetual Bacchanal. I’m wondering who these people are as I hand my keys and a dollar bill to the valet. Am I the only one left on earth who has obligations?

I grab my garment bag and go inside, loosening my tie and the top button on my shirt as I walk. Will I be able to change out of this business suit before I had to meet anyone? The light and sound energizes me as I get to the front desk and check to see if Anna has made a reservation. Behind me, change clangs and bells ring on shiny slot machines. Croupiers drag piles of chips off green felt tables in a haze of blue-white cigarette smoke. There had been a reservation for Anna Dale but it has been cancelled. There’s a message for Mitchell to meet her at the suite.

The receptionist gives me a key and sends me toward a bank of elevators. I have to slide my key card key into a slot to get to the topmost floor where the “Friends of Margo” suite is.

On the concierge level the hallway lighting is subdued, and there’s a vacant desk adjacent the elevator. The loudest thing in the hallway is my footsteps on the carpet and the sound of my luggage tags slapping against my suit bag. The hall smells of carpet cleaner and cigarette smoke and I make my way down to the suite and am about to shove the card key into the slot in the door when I hear sounds like talking from inside.

Even though I have a key I’m certain I only know one person inside. Better to knock than to bust in unannounced.

The door opens a crack after someone peeked out the peephole.

Rocco?” comes a woman’s voice.

I shrug. Say, “I guess so.” No one but Anna called me that.

“You’re Rocco, right?” the woman says, unchaining the door. Inside it’s much darker than in the hallway and I’m temporarily blind when I go in and she closes the door behind me. Locks it. She’s blonde, somewhat older than me but I don’t know by how much, and she’s wearing one of those fluffy white hotel bathrobes they beg you not to steal. I have the feeling I’ve either waken her or caught her in the act of going to bed.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” I say, feeling the need to whisper in the dark. “I got stuck going to a customer dinner. I hope Anna isn’t mad.”

“She’s okay. She was waiting up for a while, but then Dan and John got to her.”

Dan and John. Okay. Well. More friends I don’t know.

I wonder how badly they’ve gotten to her and if she’s pouting in a corner somewhere when I begin to recognize my surroundings. I’m in a foyer. The only light comes from a kitchen area where a small fluorescent lamp is lit over the sink. Behind several closed doors I can hear the sounds of people talking and an occasional giggle.

“I guess I missed the party,” I whisper.

“Don’t be silly,” she replies. Then, “I’m June, by the way. Consider me the welcoming committee. Everyone else is, well, engaged. We’ve been taking turns waiting for you.” Now I’m feeling like a jerk. I’m so preoccupied with finding Anna I never asked her what her name was. And now I’m late and keeping her awake, besides.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, and I meant it. This is supposed to be a time for me to relax. I’m going to try to like Anna's friends despite how weird they seem. I hold out a hand to her but she pushes it aside and hugs me, then kisses me on the cheek. I don’t have time to respond to the kiss, don’t really know how when she pushes my suit coat backward over my shoulders and pulls my tie off.

Something like, “Thank you,” comes out of my mouth as I’m trying to figure out what she’s doing. Then she kisses me on the lips, and as I’m making my feeble exclamation, she runs her tongue over my teeth.

Yikes. I think it, then say, “Woah,” and push myself away. “Hey there. I mean…” I’m stuttering and praying Anna didn’t just see that. I’m married. I don’t tongue kiss women without permission, and I never get permission. How do I say that? How does my mouth work again? Anyone remember? Speak up.

June seems surprised and that makes me more nervous. I’m used to Anna’s friends being overly physical—they almost always hugged each other rather than shaking hands—but June’s pushing the bounds a bit further than I'm ready to go. Is Anna going to be happy or angry with me for kissing June? I try to loosen up. Anna would probably be mad if I overreact. I had to “go with it.” Or am I in trouble for it?

“Um…” is all I can say and June realizes I’m still holding my garment bag. She takes it from me and puts it in a corner. Then she takes my coat from off my arms and tosses it over the back of a chair. As she turns toward me she lets the bathrobe slip to the floor. Her flesh glows against the dark.

I really struggling now. Am I seeing this? Is this woman naked? Or am I just imagining it and she’s really going to be embarrassed when I tell her what I think I’m seeing? Is that what I think it is?

“How do you like it?” she says, and spins once like a dancer. I’m trying to keep my jaw attached to my head when I realize her back is a human back, and sure, again the front of her. I try to focus on her face, but she won’t have it. “You should see me in the daylight. Three hours in the gym four times a week and that wonderful ‘Ponzer’ diet. Well, there’s a little enhancement from modern medicine where time has taken a small toll.” She takes my hand and holds it against her bare breast. That would be the right one.

“Feels real, don’t it?”

“Oh, God…I mean, yeah,” I stutter. “I mean, yes, really, really, real.” And I’m staring at my hand clamped under hers when something runs up my inseam and tingles when it reaches the top.

That would be June’s free hand.

The thought of Anna walking in while I had my hand on June’s breast and June had hers on my zipper burned through everything else. I gently pulled my hand away. I stepped away before June could do any damage with her left hook.

“Is Anna in there?” I say, pointing toward the closed door I’d heard the voices through, because I’m out of here right now. “I’ll just go in there. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” I’m backing away from her, motioning to the robe on the floor.

“She told us to call you Rocco. What does that mean? Are you her Italian Stallion? We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

It seems impossible I’m having this conversation with a completely naked stranger and there’s no way for me to escape. June is lithe and attractive. She’s completely oblivious to her state of undress and the implications are unsettling. Did she expect me to undress, too? And what then?

“Is Anna really in there?”

“Sure,” June says, taking a step toward me. “Anna told me you’d be nervous. Here, let me help you relax she says,” now holding out a hand and pouting.

A sound comes through the closed door. It starts like someone rhythmically humming, but it escalates to a shout, then something resembling a scream. June’s unconcerned.

“What’s going on in there?” I say, moving toward the door.

“Well, Cassie and Anna went in there to catch up on old times. Can you believe they were roommates for four years? That must have been some apartment.”

Cassie? Anna had mentioned Cassie once or twice, but they’d never kept in touch. As far as I knew she never spoke to her old roommate.

The sound of human voices rises and falls. What the hell were they doing in there, watching porn? I reach for the doorknob.

“Five is really a crowd,” June says. “Why not stay with me? There’s plenty of time.”

I turn to the door, then back toward her, trying to think of how to phrase the question that’s forming in my mind, wishing the question wasn’t there.

“I told you Dan and John are with them,” she says, as if to explain something that was beyond me, but there’s no model in my mind to fit her revelation into.

“So?” I ask, incredulously.

“So odd man out,” she says, and giggles. “Oh look, I’m starting to get cold.”

My mind goes into overdrive when she puts her hands on her breasts. What the hell is she talking about?

It’s slightly brighter in the bedroom than in the foyer, and it seems crowded when I enter. But the dim light makes everything merge into a tableau of reds, browns, and tans. There are people no more than an arm’s length away, but I can’t figure out what I was seeing or what they were doing. There were arms and legs splayed at unnatural angles. Grunts.

Then someone groans. A woman squeals, and I get scared. I smack my hand against the wall searching for a light switch, and finding one, fill the room with the raw blaze of incandescent light.

Something in me knows what I see before I admit it to myself. Everything in my body stops for two heartbeats. Every thought I ever had or was capable of having, every corpuscle of my blood, every molecule of air in my lungs freezes in absolute suspension. And when my heart starts again and the pieces of me reassemble themselves, they come down in the form of an animal far more horrifying than any thought I'd ever had of summoning.

My own wife is in there somewhere. She’s in the pile of flesh in front of me. I will find her. That’s my job.

I put my hands on the shoulders of a heavyset, older man who stands with his back toward me and I tear him away,. He thuds against the carpeted floor shouting epithets, but there’s no reason to devote any more attention to him other than to keep him away.

The face of a younger, naked man, drops from pleasure to disbelief to fear when he sees me.

“Oh shit,” he says when I press my hands against his chest, drive with my thighs, and shove him backward with all the leverage I can muster. He collapses backward out of Anna’s grasp, slapping his back into the wall, then watches me as he slides to the floor, sitting.

I hear June scream, “Stop!” behind me, and I shout to match her scream.

“Get the hell away from my wife!”

My mind replays the prior second as if it had rewound a tape.

The young guy falls backward out of Anna’s grasp. She had him in her hand. What the hell was she doing with her hand on his dick?

Anna looks up at me from the bed. She’s on all fours, and underneath her, another human being. A woman. I see their mouths move, but the words make no sense. Emptiness becomes pain and rises up my arms from the palms of my hands where my fingernails dig into them. I raise my fists. I’m going to hurt people like I hurt.

All around is meaningless shouting.

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?

And Anna is on her feet, toe to toe with me, calling my name as if I was three blocks distant and not standing in front of her.

“Stop, Rocco. Please.”

Who the fucking hell is she? Do I know this woman?

I take a breath and it's like breathing in blood, pungent and metallic. My nerves fire in bursts against an enemy that seems to fall lifeless at the first blow. This is hell. Something awful that won't fight back or die when you try to kill it.

Why don’t they fight me? I can’t kill them if they act dead.

“He doesn’t understand. Nobody prepped him,” comes a male voice.

In my head the voice: Everything has to stop. I don’t know where I am or why I got up this morning. I don’t know who I am anymore.

I feel myself breathing hard. Sweat pours from my forehead. My muscles are tense, ready to protect myself. Protect my wife.

Will someone please take a swing? Hurt me so I can die fighting.

“Calm down, there’s been a misunderstanding,” says another voice. They may as well be speaking Japanese.

“Rocco.” Anna touches my arm and it seems a ridiculous gesture. “Calm down. Let me explain.”

Christ. Now she’s confusing what had been focused anger. Why won’t they let me focus?

I’m nobody. I’m nothing, but if I’m ever born I’m coming to kill all of you.

“Please. Calm down.” It’s Anna; she holds my arm. I can’t recognize her or remember anything about her. This is not my wife, but a poor replica of someone who’d once loved me. And I feel a beast force its way from my head to my face until it controls every inch, every thought that is me.

I pull myself away from her. I lift my fist, extended a finger, and aim it at the center of her forehead.

“You stay away from me,” I shout. Why? Why am I doing this? Why not just stop breathing?

I bolt to the foyer but someone puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Rocco. It’s not supposed to be this way. This is not what we’re all about. We have a rule here—no surprises. We thought you knew.”

“I don’t care what you thought. I am not interested in who you are.” I pick up my coat and my suit bag. The foyer floods with people. Flesh. These are not people.

“Please don’t go like this.”

The young, muscular man I’d pushed stands in front of the door. He’s got his gym shorts on now. “Don’t run away. Let us explain.”

“Get away.” I feel my head lower, my jaw tense. This is going to happen and I’m just going to sit back here and watch. The muscles in my neck tighten for the impending impact. I ball my hands into fists. I imagine him with Anna. It turns my blood to rivers of fire.

Behind me, Anna: “Oh God, please talk to me. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. You said you knew what this party was all about. I only did this because I thought you wanted to.”

I ignore her. A reply is wasted energy.

I speak directly to the man at the door. My voice is as clear as I can make it; I projected each word. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” I can't feel my feet. I can't feel my arms. I'm just eyes now.

“This is very bad,” says a woman. “I thought you explained this to him, Annie. This is your responsibility. You’re not supposed to bring unprepared guests—especially your own husband.”

The man doesn’t move. Anna pleads with me, and I push her out of my mind. She starts to cry. Maybe she’s been crying. Fuck this. Fuck her.

“I can’t let you leave like this,” the guy says. “At least, straighten it out with your wife before you run away mad.”

There's something in me. Not me. Nothing I want to be but it feels cornered and I can't stop it. It sizes up the situation, examines the exit paths, evaluates the threat posed by the people in the room. I am watching someone else manipulate my body, someone who's been inside me all my life waiting to come out.

When whoever it was made up its mind it acted quickly. I saw my arm extend, felt my shoulder drop and weight shift as I stepped into the punch. The small crowd gasped in unison as the guy doubled over and I pushed him to the floor away from the door. I watch the toe of my shoe slam into his face. I stop myself from dropping to kill him because I know that dark puddle is blood.

More hands on my shoulders. Voices. I turn and the hands lift. Everyone steps away.

“Get away from me!” I force the door open, crushing the man against the wall as I squeeze out.

Faces staring in terror, disbelief. One of them is Anna, tears streaming from her eyes.

I bolt down the hall and punch the elevator button. They’re coming. I’m cornered again. The tension thickens my muscles.

Anna in a bathrobe. “Rocco! Don’t go.”

And I drop my suitbag and coat and grab her by the shoulders, screaming into her face, forcing my words and anger into her.

“Stop calling me that! My name is Mitchell! I am now and have always been Mitchell Dale. I’m not some irresponsible asshole that commits adultery and needs a pet name because they can’t face who they are. I’m not some whacked out new-aged jerkoff who avoids responsibility by telling people they were fucked up in a past life.” And I shake her, squeezing my fingers into her shoulders until she’s forced to yell.

I let her go and she sinks to her knees, sobbing. “Please don’t go. I knew you didn’t like the meditation so I thought you wanted something physical. I did this for you. I don’t know what you want.”

“You did this for me? That’s how twisted you are, you fucking whore. You had sex with these people for me? Where the hell do you get that I wanted that? You set me up. What did you think I was going to do? Jump into bed with the four of you? Is this your way of telling me you don’t want me…?” The words clotted in my throat and I swallowed them down. “I never want to see you again. Pack your shit and get out of the house by the time I get back or I’ll burn the place down.”

The elevator opens and I pick up my bag and get in. I watch my fist smashing the ground floor button over and over until blood streams from my whitened knuckles. The door won’t close. My mind swims in rivers of molten anger. Nothing makes sense. The woman for whom only moments ago I would have faced certain death is kneeling in the hallway, crying in the arms of one of her girlfriends because of something I’d done. My whole marriage is science fiction and now it's over. My fist is bleeding. I’ve just seen my wife making love to two men and a woman at the same time.

Goddamn it. The door won’t close.

My life is coming apart. I’ve hit a man I don’t know and left him gasping for breath on the floor because my wife was giving him a hand-job while being screwed and… Christ.

My wife has spent most of the day having sex with people I didn’t know. She’s probably been doing it for a long time. One of them had been her roommate in college.

What else don’t I know?

Fuck my life. The goddamned door won’t close. Fuck me for being such an idiot. Why did I ever love her? What made me think that was right? This is a bad dream that won’t end.


I punch the panel again and a burst of pain fired into my head. Traces of blood smear the steel elevator control plate and I see my reflection. It’s screaming. That yelling is me.

The older man I’ve just pulled off Anna stands with his hand against the elevator door. I haven’t seen him even though he’s right in front of me.

“You can hit me, if you want,” he says calmly. “But I can’t let you go like this. It’s not fair to your wife. It’s not fair to you. This is not what we’re all about. Now there has been a horrible misunderstanding and you need to calm down and assess—then you can make up your mind about what you want to do. But if you go now you’re only compounding a small mistake in communication into something you won’t be able to fix later.”

“What do you think you know about me, old man?” a jackal sneers from inside me. “You don’t know anything about me.” Lord, how I want to hit him. Want to see his teeth loosened and falling from his bloody gums.

He lowers his voice. “You’re right, I don’t know you. But I know that woman adores you.”

“You know she adores me? You think that because you get to fuck my goddamned wife you know how she feels about me? Here…” I tear the wedding band off my finger and fling it out of the elevator. It hits the opposite wall and rings like a tiny bell as it rolls into a distant corner.

Fetch, asshole.

“You can have her. Fuck her till you’re sore. I don’t want her anymore.”

Next Broken Starlight