If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us,

shall we not revenge?

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Thank you for your time.

Now, back, well, at least in part, to the show.

Twilight is settling in the valley. Far below us, pale lights are beginning to flicker, and the spreading pattern of the city

slowly comes alive.

As the winding road narrows to the mountain top, the motor sound grows louder in the thin air,

within the enclosing silence through which we move.

In the pale blue haze on my left, the deepening dusk mingles with the vast silence that seems to suspend the day. A square yellow sign ahead blazes in our headlights.

Danger, sharp curve ahead. The mountain wall leans close to the road.

...