I needed a job, needed to help out my mom, a new widow, so I marched a mile over rough sidewalk to the company that droned from nine to five, making sawdust and wood chips -- what else, I couldn't say -- and I saw this dust, these chips upon entering the din and thought, I could sweep them up; I could do a good job. But I was eleven, just a boy, the big bearded man said, which, I suppose, is why I cried all the way home.
"I am so lonely, but I know there is a plan. There must be. I can muscle through my life until the next move is clear. I miss you all so much. I am alone for most of the time. It's just me and the cats and dogs. Nobody comes up. Nobody stops by. It's not like it used to be -- so full of life. Perhaps I'll move down there with you. But not now. There is a plan, and I must follow it. I must follow it even though it's too quiet around here."
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