gypsy man , his head cocked slightly to the side , peering into their window , his eyes two brilliant stars in the blackness of the sky over upstate new york , his grin lit somehow from within , the light spilling out cold like the fight from a mason jar filled with august fireflies , cold like the swamp-fellas he had sometimes seen as a boy in north carolina c old , cold light , a moon in the shape of an ancient grin , one which contemplates revenge .