The Raw White Light of the Search Beam

Dear Delyara, Just before 5:30 AM, a police helicopter hovered low over the canal basin, dropping an immense, raw white beam of light directly into our central yard. For ninety seconds, the entire world became brighter than noon, exposing every piece of gravel, every discarded plastic strap, and the deep lines of fatigue on my own face in the window reflection. There was nowhere to hide from that eye in the sky. When it banked away, leaving only the dull grey dawn breaking over the gasometer, my chest felt tight. The day shift is coming, the uniform must be straight, and the private creative director must wrap himself back up in the armor of a security guard.