This month’s love note is about death and mountains and guns and Chekhov. It begins thusly:
One evening a few weeks ago, I got lost in the mountains. I was on a road I was pretty sure I’d been on before, but in the post-sunset dark, all the pine trees looked the same. Google Maps wouldn’t work — I’d crossed into an AT&T dead zone. Then my phone died altogether.
Bears will be out soon, I thought. Meaning I could be dead soon. I started panicking. I broke into a run.