Monday, October 17, 2011
Thousand: Five Hundred Thirty-Four
dog closer. Then, to make sure there’s no misunderstanding, he crooks a finger and makes that little beckoning tug with it. The dog stops several feet away and wags her tail slowly and warily. The young man looks up the path, looks behind himself into the dim room, the door ajar, looks down the path to where the cover of the portico roof ends and the path goes on into the dark woods. He nods as though this all confirms a theory. He makes a move toward the dog. “We can do it, you and me, U.D. of H. Uh-huh.