“
Randolph gave me a sort of a pitying look. “Myths are simply stories about truths we’ve forgotten.” “So, look, I just remembered I have an appointment down the street—” “A millennium ago, Norse explorers came to this land.” Randolph drove us past the Cheers bar on Beacon Street, where bundled-up tourists were taking photos of themselves in front of the sign. I spotted a crumpled flyer skittering across the sidewalk: it had the word MISSING and an old picture of me. One of the tourists stepped on it. “The captain of these explorers,” Randolph continued, “was a son of the god Skirnir.” “A son of a god. Really, anywhere around here is good. I can walk.” “This man carried a very special item,” Randolph said, “something that once belonged to your father. When the Norse ship went down in a storm, that item was lost. But you—you have the ability to find it.” I tried the door again. Still locked.
”
”