I headed north when the weather began to change. Left her here, at the beginning of the story. She wasn’t comfortable with conflict, character development or denouement so I was obliged to heed her wishes and leave her in the company of thieves and rough necks. She said it was only because she was so uncomfortable with change that she stayed around them. Knowing they would go no where in my story.

“You treat people like scenery in these things,” she once complained. And it was true I did. Their beards and bikes were backdrops. For me, they had no faces only a certain collective presence that aided in my creation of atmosphere.

I was willing to take her with me, to make her feel like someone real and not just the background I use to color these things and fool my readers into feeling like I am humane. But she said to go. She was afraid of what I would become once I got there. So was I but it didn’t stop me.

I hunt for the beast within. Especially when I drink. So I started up the road with a bottle of grain. The path was long and the city lay far away under a blanket of snow. I checked my sack to see if I had my camera. I don’t know why. I always carry it with me. I put some color film into the chamber and went in search of the gods that called me there.