48
No, I don’t really nap. We spend a few hours in a dismal Downriver motel, though, and I finally have time to stretch. My legs won’t quite sink into full splits—the last couple days have my muscles nineteen kinds of jacked up. The discipline of pulling my muscles until they burn and ache soothes me. Will lies down and closes his eyes, surprisingly without complaint, and a few minutes later he’s snoring off the adrenaline jag.
Deke and I select tonight’s equipment, then I catch a couple hours of shut-eye myself, not deeply asleep but solidly resting, fingers intertwined with Deke’s.
It’s gonna be a long night.
At midnight, we’re off to the graveyard.
The sun went down a few hours ago, but the air’s barely thinned from “rabidly muggy” to “ferally muggy.” It’s still pushing ninety degr
