17
Marinette, Michigan
October 23rd 2032
When the owner of Di Napoli’s Family restaurant in Marinette discovered Kobak spoke fluent Italian, he insisted on serving the guests himself and giving the lunch party a free bottle of Chianti. The balding, potbellied man in his mid-fifties complained as he uncorked the bottle, “No one in this small town speaks the language of Dante, of Pirandello, of Fellini.” He poured the wine while humming the theme from La Dolce Vita. When the food had been served, he left them alone.
The morning had been exhausting and the drive from Marquette seemed to go on forever, each of them catching small bits of sleep. Meanwhile Kobak had remained tight-lipped about anything to do with Sasquatch or the remains Olav had identified as plant-like. He insisted they wa
