Corona"Corona," he says.You say, "Halo?" thinking, eclipse; thinking, beauty in the iris of the eye. Thinking renaissance paintings, saints and angels crowned in circles of painted gold. Thinking, suns and moons and supernovas singing light, a galaxy in wane.He laughs and says "Beer," hands you a cold bottle that sweats bullets into your hand.You laugh as well, but you're looking at him and you're still thinking: stars.