Brinkmann’s Bridge: Turn 14
Erich Woikin is eleven again, sprinting through an orchard with a satchel of scrumped cherries bumping against his sweat-soaked back and a baying hound snapping at his heels. He’s a few strides from the spot in the barbed wire fence where the broken strand makes for easy vaulting when something grabs his satchel straps, pulling him off his feet. “How odd” he thinks to himself as he struggles unsuccessfully to get up “that I should fall on my back yet wind up with so much cherry juice staining my shirt front. How very odd.”