“This will be bleak,” The Company Man said.

The Company Man picks up his briefcase and begins walking north, back toward the house. Upon reaching the gravel driveway, he makes a perfect ninety-degree turn and starts heading back to State Highway 333. Danielle watches his back creep down the shallow hill and waits until he is out of sight before heading to the goat barn to check on Elmer.

I really hope that guy didn’t just pay me two grand to fuck my talking goat, she thinks, oh my God, I’d never forgive myself.

As Danielle heads down the path flanking the southern field to the goat barn, she sees Elmer standing on a large rock, and breathes a small sigh of relief. Danielle walks into the enclosure and circles Elmer, checking for any type of wounds or marks. Nothing. She begins to walk away, grimaces and frowns, and turns back toward Elmer. She climbs up on the rock below him, pets his back, and lifts up his tail to look at his asshole. Danielle lets go of the tail, gives a sigh of relief, and hops down onto the ground below.

Danielle looks to the left and sees one of her goats chewing at the edge of a pile of money. She pushes him aside and starts stuffing the money that hadn’t been eaten into her pockets.

When her husband gets home from work later, he will ask her if anything interesting happened today, and she will look at the television and say, “No, not really.”

•••

Barrett was in a large, black medical walking boot for his right ankle. He had set up his ancient desktop computer on his kitchen table and was reading a cryptozoology website while drinking a bottle of Budweiser beer.

Pig Iron sat on his bedside table with a bookmark from a national pizza chain’s child-reading program in it about twenty pages from the end.

The doctor had told him it was just a sprain, and, as such, a cast wasn’t necessary. He had offered Barrett some pills, but Barrett declined, because he said you can’t drink while you take them.

“At your age,” the doctor said, holding his ankle.

“I’m under no illusions, doctor,” Barrett said.

“Well, let’s do what we can and get you home. Let’s see if we got a boot around here. Six weeks, at the very least,” the doctor said.

Barrett was reading a website detailing the suspected behavioral habits of the creature known as Bigfoot. He had a notebook next to his beer with a red pen on it, but he hadn’t taken any actual notes yet. He sighed and took a drink of beer.

I’m losing my mind.

I know what I saw.

Makes no difference.

Barrett read.