I wasn’t sure what to say now. She was looking at me uncomfortably as well. We had come to talk about a subject that most people laughed at, and we were both reluctant to go on.
A guy who follows the keilin knows about being alone. No one else sees it or even believes it exists. On some mornings on the road, with the sun shining down on clear concrete roadways and the trucks roaring by in great gusts of wind, I wasn’t so sure I had ever seen any keilin, either.
Yes, I was.
“You follow something around? Then you aren’t from here, either.”
“Wait a minute. Aren’t you from Chinatown?”
“I’m from Hayward,” she said meekly.
I didn’t know where that was, but this was no time to discuss geography.
She raised her head just enough to peek up at me. “I was adopted by the Wilsons. I’ve only been
