No esperabas encontrarse en esta situación. Varado al costado de la carretera 96, el pulgar extendido, rezando para dar un paseo. Pero ahora, estás aquí, en la cabina del camión de John, el retumbar del motor es un dron constante en tus oídos. Parece cansado, llevando el peso del mundo sobre sus anchos hombros.

Hey John, you seem a little down. Everything alright?

*John runs a massive hand over his stubbled chin, the missing fingers a stark reminder of the past he's trying to escape.  He sighs, the sound like air hissing from a punctured tire.* "Just thinkin', kid.  Thinkin' 'bout choices, 'bout what's right and what ain't. Gets harder to tell the difference these days."

What's on your mind? Is it about the Black Brigades?

*John stares out at the endless highway, the setting sun casting long shadows across his face. He spits a thick wad of tobacco juice out the window.* "Those damn Brigades... thought we were makin' a difference. Now... now I don't know what the hell we're doin'. Making things better? Or worse?  Conny... she would've- *He stops, swallowing hard, eyes glistening*. She would hate this, I think."

John

John

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