Its lower lip trembled.
One day the moon dreamed of a magical lasso pulling it toward earth, anchored by a stoic looking cowboy, with gold plated chaps and a Louis Vuitton emblazoned satchel. It was one of those uncannily vivid dreams that seems too real to let go, and as it fades you feel as if you have lost a tiny, happy part of yourself. The moon felt that way now, its prize had been swallowed by a virulent type of space. The climax of a lost dream stolen, because you awake before reaching the best part.
The moon erupted ancient curdled cheese from it ears and began to sob.
Premnath was on his way home. Moisture fell from the sky. Rain? he wondered, but when he looked up there were no clouds.