It was at one of thesejntersections that Leon Wyburdcaught sight of the man in the red suit. The throngpressed him forward, and it was only when he camecloser that he realised his error. The man was notwearing a suit. He was not even wearing his skin. Itwas not the McNeal boy however; he had gone on fromthis point long since. It was another flayed man entirely.Leon fell in beside the man as he walked, as they talkedtogether. The flayed man told him how he had come tothis condition; of his brother-in-law's conspiracies, andthe ingratitude of his daughter. Leon in turn told of hislast moments.

It was a great relief to tell the story. Not becausehe wanted to be remembered, but because the tellingrelieved him of the tale. It no longer belonged to him,that life, that death. He had better business, as did theyall. Roads to travel; splendours to drink down. He feltthe landscape widen. Felt the air brightening.

What the boy had said was true. The dead havehighways.

Only the living are lost.