Chapter 12: Incline
12:16 P.M.
The bridge was sixteen stories high and looked as if it were going to collapse. The steel was rusted and a majority of the cement was cracked. Jim said, “It’s called Basker Bridge. A dozen people have jumped to their deaths from it.”
“Sounds handy,” I replied, snickering to myself.
The Mustang crossed the dilapidated structure and made an immediate left on a cow path with waist-high weeds to the right and left. The path curved down the incline, through the treetops and into a thick hallow below. Jim called the place Basker Hallow, which made perfect sense, but I didn’t believe him because he was high.
Honestly, I liked my pot and was the first person to support it as a legal drug, but I couldn’t think straight with it in my system. Nor could I accomplish
