I’m sitting on the tailgate of a pickup. Two men are with me. One leans against the bed of the truck; the other stands at the rear corner. Our conversation is friendly, but they’re here to ensure I stay where I belong. We’re in a thickly wooded swamp near the Cape Fear River in North Carolina. The late-afternoon sun draws long shadows from the tall pines.
A deep voice echoes from up the road as a third man approaches: “Jen, you ready?” I stand.
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