Steve Gobe was a hundred yards ahead of Rock as they walked along opposite sides of a busy, four-lane street through Little Rock suburbs toward the paper, but Rock was confident he would catch up.
The street would eventually feed into downtown. Its straight, southerly course would take Gobe and Rock a few blocks east of the paper. They were at least a mile away.
It did not seem curious to Rock that he was walking past a golf course that looked exactly like one he had played in San Antonio eight years earlier, or that on the other side of the street were nothing but weed strewn debris, dominated by rusted, abandoned cars and rotted lumber. He was more concerned with catching Gobe.
Rock reengaged in his pursuit, but after a delay to dodge traffic and cross the street, Gobe was out of sight.
When at last Rock reached the paper's newsroom, he learned that Gobe had arrived several minutes earlier and then left.
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