She pulled herself up and stood at the top of the hole. Her breaths came in short panting gasps, like a poor man's mad run for the
border. Sweat from her armpits rolled down her sides. She made her way to the front door, gripping edges and tops of furniture to steady herself. She stopped at the entry, one hand on the sill, one on her chest as if to muffle the noise of her heart.
She took the bottle from the grip of her cleavage, dangled it by its long neck and took the few steps to the edge of the porch. At first she did not see him enfolded in the shadow of the mountains.
He was much closer now.
