Young Guns: Connect-the-dots
A ghostly antiquity shatters the air between houses, hotels and dim, squatting light poles. The vintage town of Torrington swallows another day and crests into the shady mass of energy that is the night. Short dark streets end abruptly at churches and arcades. The school of Saint Francis is holding an amateur boxing match tonight. As on most first nights of a stage race, I need a period of adjustment. Our room is three floors up from Main Street in the Village Peddler, a rickety old hotel rasping through its wind swept windows: old cloth, old mattresses, basements filled with empty