This was the door, number 13. Long ago, it had been a bright green, but now the green paint was only visible in small strips on the grey wood of the r...tting door. He knocked. And waited. How long he stood there, he couldn’t say, before the locks started to clicks. One… Two… Three… Four… And then she was standing there in front of him. A series of events occurred rapidly as soon as the door opened. Wippy appeared to see him and froze briefly. Her mouth begin to move, although if she was saying. +++++ I made my way from Norfolk, Virginia south through the Great Dismal Swamp Canal and arrived in North Carolina just in time for the first cold front of the season. The temperature plummeted from the high 80s to — perhaps — the low-40s overnight. As I rubbed the dry white skin on my hands after I tied up to the town dock in Elizabeth City, and swore I’d try to take it easy for a day or three. Because I’d been running down the coast so very quickly. Why? I asked myself. Why did I feel I. More

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