{"id":603,"date":"2010-10-19T13:00:08","date_gmt":"2010-10-19T17:00:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/?p=603"},"modified":"2010-10-14T19:30:07","modified_gmt":"2010-10-14T23:30:07","slug":"the-emerald-foliot","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/2010\/10\/19\/the-emerald-foliot\/","title":{"rendered":"The Emerald Foliot"},"content":{"rendered":"

Miles stopped beneath the overhang at the entrance to the tube station. He leaned against the wall, out of the wind, and a short distance from the throngs hurrying home from work. “Nobody knows because nobody knows, Robbie. You know, and I know, and the person who told me knows. And I guess if he\u00e2\u20ac\u201dor she\u00e2\u20ac\u201dis still alive, the person who told him knows.<\/p>\n
“But that’s it\u00e2\u20ac\u201dthat’s all. In the whole entire world, we’re the only ones.”<\/p>\n
His eyes glittered\u00e2\u20ac\u201dwith excitement, but also tears. He wiped them away, unashamed, and smiled. “I wanted you to know, Robbie. I wanted you to be the next one.”<\/p>\n
I rubbed my forehead, in impatience and disbelief, swore loudly, then aligned myself against the wall at his side. I was trying desperately to keep my temper.<\/p>\n
“Next one what?” I said at last.<\/p>\n
“The next one who knows. That’s how it works\u00e2\u20ac\u201dsomeone shows you, just like I showed you. But then\u00e2\u20ac\u201d”<\/p>\n
His voice broke, and he went on. “But then the other person, the first person\u00e2\u20ac\u201dwe never go there again. We never see it again. Ever.”<\/p>\n
“You mean it only comes out once a year or something?”<\/p>\n
He shook his head sadly. “No. It comes out all the time\u00e2\u20ac\u201dI mean, I assume it does, but who knows? I’ve only seen it twice. The first time was when someone showed me. And now, the second time, the last time\u00e2\u20ac\u201dwith you.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
—Elizabeth Hand, “Hungerford Bridge<\/a>,” Conjunctions 52, Spring 2009<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Miles stopped beneath the overhang at the entrance to the tube station. He leaned against the wall, out of the wind, and a short distance from the throngs hurrying home from work. “Nobody knows because nobody knows, Robbie. You know, and I know, and the person who told me knows. And I guess if he\u00e2\u20ac\u201dor […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[44,508,507],"class_list":["post-603","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","tag-short-stories","tag-the-joy-of-keeping-a-secret","tag-the-way-beauty-works"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/603","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=603"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/603\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=603"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=603"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=603"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}