ISSUE: Winter 2022
In this day and age only a fool goes looking for the lost city. Drunks and suckers, or worse. It has been hundreds of years since the death of the last person to have known the last person to have seen the lost city. I dreamed of it too, when I was young: I thought then that nothing was ever lost. A grown man does not truck in fantasy; he accepts the world as it is. And the world as it is is more than enough. It is a grueling trek alone from the coast to the interior; to go deeper into the thick of the past is another matter entirely. There will always be rumors of lost riches, of the deathless warriors still standing guard. But there is nothing to be found, and no one ought to go looking for nothing. Only a fool wants to stand in the dense growth between the rivers, as burrs clutch his trousers and fever slicks his brow, only to say Here is where they offered to their gods, here they tended a modest garden.
