081413 #worm The dog runs, and the roundly jagged river rocks massage his well-worn pads. Small trees whip by him. He follows the terrain as if it were encrypted in his very gait to do so. He runs until he reaches the mossy hollow. It forms an amphitheatre for him, and he turns back into a young man. Him and Me hover at the fringes of the viridine bowl, and watch with a growing uneasiness.