Sunday, December 16, 2012
As a young man you could always just pick up and run away, which is what he would routinely do. Just pack up his things in an old army bag and go. He ran away to Oregon and back, ran clear across the ocean to Spain. He used to pride himself on his inability to tolerate such conditions, couldn’t imagine ever becoming the type of man who would stick it out. He used to have nothing but contempt for such men. Now he couldn't run, he could barely walk. They were stuck together, him and these smilers, at least for the time being. No choice either side. But you couldn't trust these people. It'd be suicide to try.