Thousand: Three Hundred Eighty-Two

contract.” Contract? The man’s cheek pains him. He touches it gently, rubbing at it to brush away whatever is bringing this hurt. Ooh, he groans. His whole head throbs. It seems to swell, then drain, collapsing in on itself. He pries his eyes open, flinches at a desert brightness. He lifts his cheek off the gravel by the side of the road, which he seems to have been sleeping on. Unconscious on. When he feels dampness on his forehead he squints at the fingers that found it, sees nothing, nothing but a sore blur. But when he sniffs them his