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THE SPINDLE Its out there stinging and sparkling in the night of the blue wasp. A man and a woman have pulled over in the rain to watch it the rusty pole getting nailed by all the lightning. They turn their map light on. They begin talking to one another. The man knows all about the spindle. Knows where the lightning goes once it hits it. Why they putthe spindle there in the first place and when. What color it was by day before it rusted up. Its 7z feet tall he tells her. When it rains like this its the only thing out there to hit. Its easy enough to see her shape in the car. Shes the smaller one the one listenin the one whos new to the beach and stories of the beach. But this is the simplest of the stories. This is the story of the spindle. Its called One Mile Rock he tells her. Its a navigational aid by day a lightning rod by night. The lightning is an old friend nailing its melted steel conical inverted top with soothing regularity the way r oo-year-old Georgians make love the old Georgians they discovered in Russia except they have nothing as simple as this to look on a million feet of ocean and one spindle. She looks 3 miles across the car and tells him she wants to leave. She saw a restaurant on Route r with canopies and lights and people. No ones here on this beach. The spindle makes them too alone the water glugging up at stones thrown down. They argue a bit. He turns on the radio and tries the wiper. He tries his blinkers and pushes in his cigarette lighter. Hes never tried it before. He doesnt smoke but it came with the car. And just now he wants to see its rings turn red. orange and finally white. Finally he starts the engine turns the interior light out and pulls the car steaming into the rain. Another car drives by oblivious to the spindle. And then the first car comes back with the man inside alone. He reaches down and adjusts the seat back. He feels hes only now discovering his car. When he was a boy he swam out to the spindle once with his sister rowing a boat just ahead. He thinks of long swimmers Diana Nyad vs. the English Channel the motor oil they rub on each other before slipping into the dark like seals. His car door opens. He has his hands in his pockets walks like this over the wall and onto the rocks. Theyre slippery inaccessible Kant. The water is furious red-eyed calling its attorney. A giant wave sweeps 3o feet and washes the spindle halfway up plunging r Mile Rock in darkness. Then a big thundercloud swaggers up sniffing around. The ozone is