won’t be the first to reach my father. One of the watchmen has caught up to me. He is young and strong, a man eager to prove himself. Ropes of brawny muscle bulge beneath the blue fabric of his uniform. His leather belt creaks with gizmos—handcuffs, a shocker, a long, retractable baton. Why would such a man care that I’ve pulled my badge from my suit coat and held it high, that I have identified myself as a ferryman at the level of managing director, that I have ordered him to stand down? He is simply incapable, a dog cut from his leash. He applies a final burst of speed, and as my father
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