This chapter brought to you by Florence’s What Kind of Man, which is pretty much my writing song now.
Novel: Occult adventure
There was little to indicate that the snow-covered plain was once a highway, save for the rusted signs and shells of abandoned cars dotted like punctuation marks in the white expanse. There were the underpasses as well, and we nested within one of these to pass the night. The woods on either side of us were thick and supplied us with plenty of fuel for the fire, and we soon had a large one blazing.
I stretched out on my back and gazed up at the ceiling of the overpass, feeling my tired muscles stretch and relax after the day of backpacking and trekking through snow.
“You ever pretend,” I said “that you can see the stars?”