Thousand: Three Hundred Eighty-Seven

the barb. “My name is Bernie,” says the man to the scorpion. “I don’t know how you survived my big squishing foot, dear fellow, but it’s over now. No hitchhiking to hell in this leather boat.” Says the dog again, “Urf!” this time following with a growl. And Bernice recognizes another growl in the distance. A truck. The road shoots down a long slope, hunches over two hills without turning, then lunges off left. The truck is cresting the further of the two hills, and it is huge. The dog turns his head to look at Bernie. “I don’t suppose