The bus smelled like exhaust and hot rubber. It hit Elijah as soon as he walked through the folding door. That afternoon, the air inside smelled like food, too. Doritos, pretzel rods, gritty Nature Valley bars that kids chased with …
Stevie Chedid
No Exceptions (A Visit from Yellow-Yellow)
Always about the Adirondacks is a pileup of loosely held, emphatically shared rumors. Alongside skiing, climbing, kayaking, and hiking—spreading gossip, and quizzing its sources, is local sport. Each time I return, I’m greeted with stories of varying validity. Once, asking a retired neighbor why this hobby seemed, in our experience, more commonplace among ruralites than city dwellers, she simply shrugged and yawned out: Something to do.
