Thousand: Three Hundred Eighty-Nine

on easily) and bops after. Least as much bopping as one can do who’s just stirred his bruised lump from unconsciousness and gravel. Then there’s the brush his guide seems blithely unconscious of, but which keeps snagging and yanking on Bernie’s clothes. He’s sweating, a black fly likes smacking against his brow, and there’s this roar. He swivels his head. The truck, truly gigantic, what is it? three stories? each tire as tall as a mansion door, has pulled up to the place in the road he and the dog just abandoned. It’s snorting, the orange flames painted on its