The stench of decay and manure saturated the hot sticky night air, clinging to our skin like

wet saran wrap as we walked down the broken sidewalk.

It assaulted my senses, permeating the fabric of my clothes and mixing into the fresh sweat

from our two-mile hike. The only way to get

where we were going was on foot. The unused roads had lost their battle with Mother Nature,

and her army of twisted roots and giant sinkholes. The streetlights tilted inward from

either side of our path, like giants craning their necks to see what idiots dared to enter their

smelly, forgotten domain. Even if there had been power running to them, their bulbs had long

since burnt out, replaced by some kind of mossy nests that dangled from the lampheads like

shriveled fingers. The work of rodents or insects or

eldridge abominations, there was no way to know which. Jerry and I were on foot, his flashlight

scanning the pothole riddled concrete. Behind us, Rosa carried her own light while Cooper

carried the conversation. If you think this is bad, it's nothing compared to South Florida.

One day, I had to trek 20 miles straight through the glades to get a job.

You guys probably wouldn't have made it that far.

The alligators scare most people off, but they don't bother me.

Never been afraid of alligators.

I guess I'm just built different. I've been silently

listening to Cooper, the newest member of our crew,

for some time now, long enough that I already knew everything

I needed to know about him. He was the kind of guy who loved

to talk about how smart he was,

...