I walked toward downtown Stagger Bay. My mind was so involved in my self pity fest that Reese or the Driver could have rolled up and had a free crack at me.
In the past I’d learned to put the darkness and self loathing where it belonged: in a box in my heart where I never had to examine it other than in dreams. But this time the box had overflowed all the way.
I was trapped by the memory of the little girl. I felt small again, just as small as when I awaiting trial for the Beardsleys. Any strength I ever might have had meant nothing.
The classics I’d read in prison were no guidance at all. The Masters were pompous hypocrites. A man couldn’t be expected to fight the impossible; it was pointless for me to even have stood up here.
I reached my destination: the same bus terminal I’d arrived at when I raised a seeming eternity ago. The same bus terminal I’d been heading toward the day it all went down at the school.
I could catch a Greyhound bus to Oakland here at the terminal if I wanted. And why wouldn’t I? If I could sink into the earth I’d do it to get away from this place.