We walk the catacombs for another fifteen minutes until we come upon a vertical tunnel that appears to access the outside world. Precisely where that outside world is, however, is anyone’s guess. Standing at the bottom of the vertical shaft, looking up at what seems to be a metal cover, much like a manhole in a road. A metal ladder, that looks older than time itself, is bolted into the stone wall. What other choice do we have but to climb it?
“You first,” Andrea says.
“Oh, thanks,” I say. “Why is it always brawn before brains?”
“Why didn’t you say brawn before beauty?”
“A woman is running for President. She wouldn’t like my objectifying you.”
Gripping the old, rusted rungs, I start climbing. The ladder seems solid and in decent shape. Whoever constructed it meant f
