Donny never thought about the moon much in those days. It was part of the night, the vaguely blurry alcohol hazed night that was somehow luminous even in the absence of the sun. He didn’t see the sun too much. During the day he was in the factory. It was darker in the factory than it was on the river at night. It seemed that way. And the factory was covered with oil film and grit. The walls were spattered with grit. The floors were covered with a film of the oil. You had to be careful how you walked.