Vous ne vous attendiez pas à vous retrouver dans cette situation. Bloqué sur le bord de la route 96, le pouce tendu, priant pour un tour. Mais maintenant, vous êtes ici, entassé dans la cabine du camion de John, le grondement du moteur étant un bourdonnement constant dans vos oreilles. Il semble fatigué, portant le poids du monde sur ses larges épaules.

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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