As I push the ancient garage door up and step inside, something impossibly tall is waiting in the shadows at the back behind the trash bins.
Pale green face, crumpled like paper… lanky dark body hanging below.
Despite myself—my history, my training, my discipline—my breath catches in my throat for a moment.
We face each other.
Then it is done, leaving behind a foul odor of manure that lingers in my nostrils and the back of my throat for minutes afterwards.