Shaunessy Fong
My last ride of the day had left me in lower Manhattan, near Chinatown. From the bottom of some big, bustling bridge, I had hiked through the crowded sidewalks to the corner of Hester Street and the Bowery. Since my first ride of the day had picked me up in the damp spring greenery at Breezewood, Pennsylvania, it was a big change from this morning.
I had escaped from a minimum security prison many miles away by climbing over a fence to chase a white, wispy shape with the tail of an ox, the body of a deer, and an equine head with a single horn. It was a keilin, or Chinese unicorn. At least, I thought it was. Of course, if it wasn’t real, then I was just a lunatic.
If so, though, I was a fugitive lunatic.
Actually, I wasn’t very important to the legal system. No one would
