Thousand: Four Hundred Seventeen

here. I bet it winds safely through the prickly bushes and skirts the rattlesnakes and if there’s a big crevasse at the bottom of which lurk sharp rocks, the path takes you to a tidily constructed steel bridge. I bet when day comes it will be obvious and I’ll kick myself for not seeing it. For not seeing it at all.” Having to detour around murky threats increases the sense that the yellow light is not getting closer. Bernie has to keep his eyes low; when he looks up to reorient himself there are times he is sure he has