I tell the man that the only thing he’ll find on this path is forest. That’s all I know. ‘But it’s in there,’ he replies. No, no, no way, I insist. You’ll die if you go into the forest. If you want, I’ll point the way or take you to where your dog is. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ he says. And I say, ‘Around here, dogs that haven’t eaten always go to the same place.’ ‘But my dog’s in there,’ he repeats. No, no, no way. I put a hand out to stop him ’cause I know that people who go into the forest never come out. They never reach anywhere and they die. They get tired and dehydrated. Or they get tired and die of cold. Or they get tired and life no longer offers them a way forward. I tug on his arm and explain. I explain that I belong here more than anyone else, that I might not be very old, but I know this place ’cause I have a backstory. I say that if he wants, I’ll tell him my story: I lost a dog when I was younger and
