Her eyes were brown, not that light, silky tannish kind of brown, but a rich, deep brown, the brown of a oak table stained a really, really dark brown.

It was a dark and stormy night, dark like the deepest part of the overnight, when you stand beneath the stars but they're just not there because it so clouded over with rumbling summer thunderclouds, stormy like the lightning has cracked and the thunder crashed and the rain, thick, heavy, pelting rain is beating, slapping, crushing you until you can barely breathe, stormy like my Aunt Esther when she's on one of those bitter benders railing about Uncle Frank's infidelity, his whores, lovers, transvestites scattered across the city. That kind of stormy. And really dark.