In that moment last Friday night, we didn’t care about our clean new tennis shoes. We didn’t care about the years of hearing stories of people taking their life and being haunted at the old Avery Gorge Bridge. We didn’t care that it hadn’t been crossed by train in at least 20 years, and probably had missing or failing members.

We didn’t care whether that dark thing with deep burning orange eyes in the woods was still chasing us.

We ran like it was, like our lives depended on it. and we had no intention of stopping until we made it back to the city.