Saturday, March 12, 2016


Dust covered, his pants looked derelict.  Sipe looked like a derelict, recently rolled, slow to heal.  The Amazon headed up the driveway waving and smiling and talking to the kids, Sipe took a snapshot of what he looked like and placed it in her head.  Maybe she’d called the cops before exiting the Forest Service.  Sipe imagined sprinting, surprising some Barney Fife on patrol, the cop hitting brakes on the gravel road, watching Sipe leap off the highway, start running through the tall grass for the thick timberline.  

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