There's only this occasional longing for a quiet cigarette on a small bridge over a stream watching a trout immobile in the lee of a submerged rock knowing how it lives and what bait it would take and sometimes waiting out a small friendly rain under the bridge or a tree. Rather like different schools you went to and most of your old schoolmates must still be living there probably remembering you from time to time and wondering what happened to you. And now, in the Promised Land, it is the golden path between a wandering Jew and a Massada suicide always interesting and a challenge Only sometimes this longing for a quiet cigarette on a small mossy bridge watching trout. Whoever said that it was sweet and noble to die for one's homeland may have been right the only credibility problem being he was still alive when he said it. It's very easy to stop at the lowest common denominator without checking whether true nobility and sweetness do not hide somewhere higher up, among the logarithms.
Every mob is frightening and the same.
You can manage all right with up to a hundred friends, up to fifty lovers, even up to a hundred enemies. More than that will tear you apart. When freedom finally comes It will come too late for me. Before you could have been a wet stain when your father masturbated or practiced coitus interruptus or when your mother had her period. You would dry out within a few hours and be removed at the dry cleaners and the mattress or the pillow would have been thrown out years ago.