Staring at the mud, Jay bent down and licked up some of the dirty rain water. Grit stuck to the top of his mouth. Water poured down his throat, washing away the burrito taste. He played in the mud to fight off a ghost world, but it never really worked. The sunlight before dusk was the same color as his ex-wife's hair and he could still hear Sharkey's voice. His muddy fingers made chocolate colored streaks across his forearm. He never talked to Sharkey or knew anything else about him except for his name and his smells and how his voice sounded. But it was enough to haunt him. The sky that evening was made out of thin gold light. Hair that color made a curtain in his memory. He wondered if he will remember this evening's mud and rain water years from now. He was forty seven. He had maybe another half of a life to accumulate these things. He rubbed his beard, matting it with the brown paste. He was not scared of ghosts. He went into his trailer and glued copper scraps to a green canvas.