A two year span in France, where the end of the world and the end of school both hit their pitch - the moments before the mushroom cloud, the night before the coup - through pieces of white material floating in the air. Perhaps because it nailed the sense of time halted, a breath held and gravity held almost in abeyance, before nothing will be the same again. (Or so the story goes, though the boys climbing the roof know what that after the flags and the expulsions, the world as such will still be there.) Perhaps because nothing that looks that good can happen only one time.
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