Chapter 10. The Art of Tracking
Mark Burnett
It's 2:00 a.m., and I can barely keep my eyes in focus, much less keep my brain clear. It's Tuesday now, but to me, it's just a really long Monday. I stare at the painting on the wall across from my desk.
It's strange that I've been sitting at this desk for a week now, staring at this painting, but I never actually looked at what I was seeing. In the painting, a middle-aged man stands with his back to me, looking out his front door. He is wearing a loose, light-blue shirt and pants that could be either his pajamas or some strange, oriental-looking outfit. Outside his door is a vast ocean—no land, just endless ocean. And it's hard to judge exactly how far down the water is. Perhaps he could step ...

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