and I didn’t feel like I was watching a movie of our conversation. I was having it.
I could listen to her, and I knew she was listening to me. “I wonder if they’ll ever finish this thing,” Daisy said at one point.
“I kind of hope not,” I said. “I mean, I’m all for clean water,
but I kind of want to be able to come here again in like ten or twenty years or something.
Like, instead of going to my high school reunion, I want to be here.” With you, I wanted to say.
“Yeah,” she said. “Keep Pogue’s Run filthy, because the view from the unfinished water treatment tunnel is spectacular.
Thanks, Russell Pickett, for your corruption and incompetence.”
“Pogue’s Run,” I mumbled. “Wait, where does Pogue’s Run start? Where is its mouth?”
“The mouth of a river is where it ends, not where it begins. This is the mouth.”
I watched her realize it. “Pogue’s Run. Holy shit, Holmesy. We’re in the jogger’s mouth.”
I stood up. I felt for some reason like Pickett might be right behind us,
like he might push us off the edge of his tunnel and into the river below.
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