In an American city at sunset the flags were all waving with crazy wind currents, dry leaves swept through the streets like fairies dancing on the end of flowers, the mortar burst and swelled between the red bricks, a yellow sun lowered in a yellow sky among red and orange and pink, and a woman stood on a corner in tall leather boots, a flared skirt of many materials, and a striped button-down top. Her name was Callie, and she was waiting for the meteor to fall.

As the sky darkened, Callie's eyes began to drift toward the ground. It would not come tonight. She trudged home through the swirling leaves, keeping toward the sides of buildings and away from the other pedestrians. Passing cars pressed her skirt against her legs and set her hair aloft. A driver honked at her twice and shouted out that she should lift her shirt; she kept walking, head down, until she reached her house. She lived on the side of an alleyway that rose up from the main street, in a house that had passed down to her from her dead mother. The neighbors had little flower pots on their porches, colorful wooden decorations, a bench and chairs. Callie had nothing, just an empty house front.

She pushed open the door. Her cat, a brown tabby, was sitting by the door with its face pointed upwards, having heard her key in the lock. "Hello, you little strumpet," she said. "Were you waiting here for me all day? Were you? It wasn't tonight, sweetie, don't worry. I came back." She picked up the cat and walked with it to the kitchen, wondering if there was anything in the refrigerator that she could make into a meal.

She saw a nearly empty carton of eggs, a few cups of milk, a wilting head of lettuce, a door full of condiments, a jar of peanut butter, a bottle of tonic water. Not much to work with. She made an omelet and ate it, sitting at her small wooden table with the tabby in the chair next to her. The phone rang and she answered.

"Hello? Hi, Melissa. No, not tonight. It should happen this week, is what the book said, but I couldn't get the exact date. This week as in ending Sunday. I'm just guessing it's using the Julian calendar, I guess I don't really know. I know Sunday is tomorrow. Well, then, why don't you come with me tomorrow night? Okay, I'll meet you at your place. Good night."

In her bedroom, the wind was blowing through the open window, pushing the curtains out toward her. It felt like they were beckoning. She walked over, closed the window, and lay down to wait for sleep to come.