"Grab the shovel." She propped up the sagging part of the tarp over the tent.  A towel and sweatshirts to mop up the tent floor.  "It is what it is."  

     Nobody's life was turning out to be a fairy tale.  As far as we could tell (i)people make plans, plans fall apart(i).  Some people were nonplussed by this.  Others were ground-halted and all (i)broken dream(i) about it. 

     The boyfriend worked quietly.  Hoodie draped over his head and shoulders.  Stripping the bark off sink-pipe thick branches.  "Why are you saving us?" The whiney male/female voice called from the bushes.  The couple did not answer.

     At lunchtime they each shared half a ham and Swiss sandwich.  The boyfriend wrapped his half in a paper towel.  "See if he's hungry when he wakes up." 

     "Is he asleep?" 

     "Should've said (i)comes to(i) I guess." 

     She found a stick the length of the shovel and replaced the pitch in the tarp with it.  He put the shovel back in their truck.  "Wasn't sure if we were going to have to bury another body," she said to him.  "You've been burying them?" He lifted his head from fogged-in and asked.  "In a manner of speaking."  They got in the truck but the guy hopped back out and gave me chips and a water.  "Hang on to your lid." 

     "Why?" 

     He looked into the distance. 

     Way up on a ridge a man was walking.  He'd told a friend of a friend (i)before sunset(i).  The friend of a friend paced the tiny parking lot of the trailhead.  "So what was it again?" 

     "I found a man." 

     "Good for you.  Mazel toff.  May you live long and prosper and all that good stuff." 

     "No." 

     "No, you don't want to prosper? Or, oh, are you on that trip? Let's just all be poor and sponge off each other." 

     "A real man." 

     "Like I'm not.  You know I've seen places in the world where people just (i)suck, suck, suck(i) off each other until the sponge is," he imitated a shrinking, drying up sponge, concluding in a gasping for air and choking to death finalè.

     "This one's different." 

     "You all say that about anything fresh." 

     "He doesn't know where he is." 

     "Did you tie him up?  Leave him somewhere?" He grabbed the birdwatching binoculars from my dashboard.  Pounded his mitten'd hands together and peered at the ridge.

     It was a few days before the couple came back.  This time they brought a gallon of freshwater.  "Don't drink the creek water," My hand slap-covered my mouth and I said, "Oh my God." She just looked at me.  "I was going to say, don't drink the creek water just after a hard rain."  I uncovered my mouth.  "Why?" She slightly shook her head but refrained from a (i)duh(i).  Explained, "There's run off.  From the ground." I blinked trying to compute (i)run off(i).  She looked at the sky, my eyes followed her looking.  "Rain comes down.  Hits the ground.  Water always goes to the lowest point.  Takes all the garbage surface dirt with it.  To the creek." 

     "Got it.  You're smart."

     "Not really." 

     The bushes spoke.  "Smart is as smart does.  What have you done for me lately?" 

     "Has he eaten anything?" 

     "What am I his minder?" 

     She bit the inside of a lip and sighed.  "Want him removed?" 

     I shook my head like trying to shake a dream.  "No. I mean, I didn't place a complaint or anything.  I just found him.  And he just stays in there." 

     "Well lemme know if there's any trouble," she said and started to ealk away.  "How would I find you?" I asked almost bumping into the boyfriend.  "Just let someone know." She closed the truck door when she got in.  I said to the boyfriend, "She's smart."  He said, "She doesn't think so or doesn't want to be or something."  We each looked at the ground.  I could picture run off.  "Just the same," I said, "You better protect her smarts." He grinned a little.  "Why's that?" 

     "A lot of people our age are already getting Traumatic Brain Injuries." 

     "Really?" The man turned towards the truck.