Encampment, Wyoming wondered how myths of the American West held up so well when everything else seemed to keep breaking down.
So much held sacred for so long, a bunch torn to shreds, tossed into the wind by careless people. Just because a story was a myth didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
Then some other truths, distant and delicate began to sink in. It dawned on the five oilmen there would be even more of a price to pay.
The five of them stared at traffic passing by. Hunched over a table outside a Starbucks in National City, they weren’t sure where to go. Maybe there wasn’t a place to go.
Up in Encampment, Wyoming, the black wind howled like a hundred harpies.
