Black magic, black cats, black eyes, soot, black bears and Panthers, the garb of witches and widows and nuns, that little black book with names, phone numbers, and addresses written in black ink, a bottle of Johnny Walker and, when not consumed in moderation, a man too drunk to walk or speak or stand, the stingy Nebraska defense, a biker’s leather jacket, the color worn to mourn the departed.
Holes in space from which not a single atom can escape, the scandalous Sox of 1912, days of the week — Tuesday at the stock exchange before the Great Depression, Friday after Thanksgiving at the outlet malls, trendy apparel — sleek skirts, mock turtle necks, cocktail dresses, pumps and boots and stilettos, free of debt on a bookkeeper’s page, stallions, mascara, asphalt, newsprint, caviar, the formal attire required for weddings and fundraisers and galas, one side of a two sided argument, the market for contraband, two diamonds denoting an advanced ski slope, the bough that wet petals sit upon, the sedans of federal agents.