THIS IS A QUIET, WOODED PLACE. There are no homes here, no driveways, no mechanical noises. A thick canopy of century-old oaks and maples shades the afternoon sun to a gentle twilight. A graceful young doe noses through the soft dirt, searching for acorns, her fawns nervous and unsteady beside her.
There is a road, barely two lanes, rounded on the shoulders, descending hundreds of feet in just a few miles, ragged with neglect. It cuts through a forest that has long since rejoined and blocked the sky above it.
Popping over a crest with a stutter-squeal of the ABS, a white M235i lands and settles in the road’s trough, throttling down the long, gently curved … More
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