and mike doughty zips down the hill! he is only a blur of color now.

i will get my bicycle helmet, thick jacket, those knee pads my dad uses when he gardens, and the cardboard i keep under my mattress. i will knock on his door (someone's door)- grab his hand, wake him up, bring him in to the cold night air. i will drive out, in to those deep hills. drive out of the coast, away from the forest. drive out until we find the place the fog lifts, the trees stop growing, the people stop visiting.

when we find the tallest hill, i will stop the car. we will hike to the top, and stare out- we can see the whole world. he takes his cardboard, and i take mine. helmets click closed. jackets and pads are put in to place. our eyes close, because you can't look down at this point. you just can't.

i whisper 1,2,3. he makes the sign of the cross. and we push off!

i want to find someone i can adventure with. we don't have to be anywhere special, really. we just have to promise each other not to ask "why?" and not to say no.