Arriving at Yosemite: the rangers tell us to lock up our chapstick or the bears will find us in the middle of the night. I leave my camera in the cafeteria where we eat dinner, and it is brought back to me by a maybe-thirteen year-old boy with skinny jeans and skate shoes. In the middle of the night, a crow sounds to me, in my sleepy paranoia, exactly like a bear. It isn't.
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