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| Part One // Ending One // Ending Two // Ending Three Ending One This was the last memory I have of the following week, in which I didn't sleep one minute, after which I woke up under a tree far from the city, in a place far more beautiful than any I had ever dreamed of. And I've been here ever since, and never have changed my suit. It's dusty now, thin and full of wide holes. I've been living on a pasture in rural Indiana with a herd of dairy cattle; I've built a treehouse for myself, on this water oak that stands tall and alone in the middle of the grazing fields, and the farmer Guido lets me stay here, he is a very kind man and kind to hobos. I help him chase out the coyotes that sometimes come out of the woods over yonder. You see, I think that all the time I worked in the black tower my favorite part of the whole affair was the nature of the black-tinted glass, and how I could stare at people without any discomfort at their looking back at me. And when I woke up in this pasture, far from anywhere I knew, I realized that I had lost it all, and that I had been reduced to roughly the same value as a broken-off twig from this here oak tree; from there I extrapolated that I hadn't really undergone much of a change at all, and that I wasn't worth too much when my thoughts flew and flitted through outer space, and I didn't give a damn whether anybody was watching me, or if I was watching anybody else, and so I came out of hiding. This damn old suit's got real comfortable over the years too: it's just my smell. Ending One // Ending Two // Ending Three |