STORIES: Winds

A scattered few puffs of lone clouds met over the Rockies, blown by the northwest wind into a gathering of a gray ragtag army marching over the plains, stopping to drink at the Great Lakes of Michigan’s banks, holding its breath as it filled in its ranks in a faster-paced mass over the widest part of New York, meeting its enemy and unloading its full charge of bullets of rain into the City, soaking the streets and the alley where the man known as Zeller lay dead.