d-on into the abutment of the railroad bridge that was only a few hundred yards downhill from the Meany Granite Quarry. location that its ongoing construction was a campus eyesore throughout Owen's and my eleventh-grade year. HELLO, SIMON, Owen said, holding out his hand to Simon, who was panting and sweating from his furious journey on the sewing machine, but who quickly took Owen's hand and shook it. MERRY CHRISTMAS, he said, when he finally answered the phone.
THERE'S NO END TO THIS, Owen said. I was never one of them. He's got a light with him, Mr. Then my ears cleared; there was a popping or a ripping sound, as if my ears were late in echoing die explosion, a
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