13 Ice We drove out under starlight, a hearse of circus clowns, passed a fifth, spat at the sky. And groaned about the bloodless proofs of math, a father’s strop, the prim napkins some sister folded cleverly to stand erect. The moon beat its face against the water tower, phone wires stretched east and west like frozen nerves. Later, bored and loaded, we pulled on skates and slapped a puck till we doubled over, gasping. Then one guy flipped around his stick, took aim, and opened fire. We blasted until every man lay cold. ...