These Solitary Men


I start to approach these solitary men. I hope to join them. Although the dingy dump of crushed and dismantled cars doesn’t seem to be the best place to join a group. I’m troubled and alone, and it seems as though the stacks and piles of wood and debris reflect what my life has been like up until now. Besides, these men appear to be confident and somewhat knowledgeable—there’s something in the way they stand and look that feels tough. Maybe I will follow them. I’ve got no other choice. I’ve run away, and I’m not going back.


Here I stand with my companion, my teammate, my friend, as we lean against a colossal pile of wreckage. We stand here relaxed, without a care in the world, without a care in our heads, as a strange, young man approaches us. Perhaps he will join us in our thinking?


A short, young man approaches us, and he seems to want something. What could he possibly want? Look at where we’re standing, in a dirt pile with rotten smells and waste. The smell of oil and smoke fills the atmosphere around us. As I gaze up slowly to the horizon, I wonder, Why would this person want to bother us? I try to think. I let my mind wander like my friend here next to me, but how can I when there are so many things happening at once? This stranger approaches. He seems simple and serene. But maybe he needs something important from us.

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