Page 35 - GRANADA
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lot: mine, a police car, and an older beater that looked to be on its last leg. Considering the police were taking down the caution tape as I was pulling up, I had a pretty good guess as to who the third car belonged to.
I parked and got out of my vehicle, making sure to grab the small pocket knife I kept in the console. I headed to the beat-up car first to make sure there was no one inside. The police officer sitting on his own watched intently, but so did most in a place like Tucson, so I took it for only superficial reasons.
There was no one in the car, which meant that the Snowbird would be out in the park somewhere. I flicked open my knife in one hand and grabbed for my phone with the other, just in case I needed to use the camera. Or call emergency services. I looked back to the cop in his car and sure enough, he was still eyeballing me. I gave a nod and began to walk down the dirt trail in pursuit of the Snowbird.
Barely five minutes in, I already felt tired. And dehydrated. And miserable. I quickly found myself wondering why people would ever do this for fun. Still, I pushed on. I was going to continue on for the only two reasons I had: he was weird and I was curious.

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