It’s late August. Humidity is thick in air. Outside Cleveland in by a small lake, Julian looks down the damn to the spillway fifty feet below. His left hand produces a shiny metal object. With a gleam in the sun, it flashes before a tiny splash in Hinckley creek. He stares at the water as it races away.
At his wrist, the only companion left for him. A grasshopper. Julian had no idea where he came from. It was a three mile hike but no field for his friend to live in.
He realises there are other people around him. A dozen people fishing from the bank of the lake. He’s the only one sweated up. His day pack looks way out of place too.
He’s no more out of place then the grasshopper. But this is a sign of good things happening to him. The sign is clear. It’s on his wrist. Things are going to turn around in his life.
“Jimmie, I’ll call you Jimmie. I wish I knew where you came from.”
There only one thing uphill where he came from. Woods and more woods, and a body named Jimmie.