9. My Machu Picchu

Halfway between the Sun Gate and the first cluster of stone dwellings, I thought I heard a shout. Since I saw no one, I kept walking. I knew there had never been after-hour guards, only a rumor among travelers that ex-prisoners and newly-released mental patients might be brought in. After all, who else could tolerate the isolation, inhospitable conditions, and uninvited company of ghosts wandering among the ruins? Another shout. More insistent this time. Then, a barreling spot of red: his hardhat. A blur of green: his uniform. A man was running, shouting, and waving his arms, heading my way. (100)