The psychotic breaks from reality were becoming more regular, but easier to regulate. The calming smoke of the herb eased his mind and nerves, but his heart was still dark. That tiny little hole where he had shoved the faces and places, miles and hills, broken glass steets of spent shell casings and broken needles sparkling in the sun of the neighborhood playground where the maintenance van was always parked. The comrades he had buried came to his mind as he wondered about his own futile acceptance of the path he had chosen thirty some years ago.
Last night had been a bad one, a rare one. The thoughts of a final ending had been lied to him by crooked tongued devils of...