Cordero, Nevada bent back in the desert’s ragged wind.
Down in the Santa Monica Mountains, the two men Cecile watched coming up the canyon stopped and spoke to one another.
They couldn’t have seen it coming and they couldn’t have done anything about it.
When they fell into the sage and covered the dying clumps of golden yarrow, she stood up and stretched and finally lit a cigarette.
The sky was dim now. The coyotes were asleep, adrift on dreams of better days up in Cordero, Nevada.
