This is where they buried the losing gladiators.


      We have a little battle of our own to face. But what is lying in wait for us is no match for Wendy. When we reach the parking lot, the van driver is waiting beside the car. He demands to know where we have been.
      “We thought we would take in Ephesus, while we were in the neighborhood,” says the noble gladiator, Wendy.
      “Are you being funny with me?” he snarls.
      “No, we actually went there,” snaps back Wendy the Magnificent. “Have you ever been?”
      Wendy has told us she is from New York. This is proof positive. New Yorkers are the best in-your-face gladiators in North America. You can only intimidate them if they’re bound and gagged. And even then you have to watch out for the feet.
      The driver takes a step back. That’s it. He’s lost.
      Julia gestures in the direction of the Gladiator’s graveyard, which is just above the parking lot. “What do you think, dad?”
      “Third spot from the right looks pretty empty. How tall is he?”
      Wendy is already in the driver’s seat and gestures us to get in. “He may have brothers in the hood,” she says. “Let’s hit it.”
      We roar out of the parking lot, bounce onto the main road, and drive back into the present.

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