Luis Socrates awoke with a start.
He bolted up, struggling for cognition, his mind afumble. A moment elapsed before he was fully in touch with his surroundings. Happily, he found everything as it should be. He was in the hay loft of the old barn; his home away from home. The loose shutter on the loft door was banging and the assault on the tin roof told him the rain had come in buckets. He was wondering what awakened him when Luis heard… something. Horses? And… something more. Chanting?
Luis lifted his little worn black book, his constant companion, his Shakespeare, from the hay where it"d fallen and slid it into his back pocket. He climbed from his loft bed, took hold of the bale rope, and swung out over the floor of the barn. Luis hung there, allowing the rope to quiet in the ancient b
