081613 #worm Corn passes. Gravel to dirt. More corn. Dirt to mostly grass, and it goes downhill sharply, past the sunset. The old truck wobbles to a stop at the edge of a dark, thick stand of oaks. You get out. You get this eery feeling you've been here before, but with--less hair? Different clothes? A different--name? You look around for your companion, but he is gone. Where the road ends the path begins.