She stood, hair lapping in the frigid night air, at the coast. The rocky barrier separated the gravel road from a smooth, black and lapping bay. It was pitch black, like thick coffee with grinds that managed to escape into the brew. Lapping. Beckoning.In the distance, the lights from the bridge shone in melancholy, lonesome radiance. The glow of cars passing over it. The persistent lights of machinery. Industrial.A shiver traveled down her spine. Cold and clammy as her body was, she couldn’t take her eyes from the scene before her. It absorbed her. The mystique of the night and cold and the industrial aspects were so simple, so real, so down-to-earth, and so satisfying. And so was the deep breath of fresh, chilling air. She kept her eyes wide open, not wanting to miss a single feeling or motion, but the cold air dried her eyes and made them water.