He sat around, as the wax from the candle kept dripping on the table and the wind violently shook the leaves outside. The paper absorbed every word, every letter, every mark he put on with an old quill dirty and gray with age. His hand shook as he got out the ink, leaving an ugly mark that the paper quickly drank up, ruining all the efforts of the day. He dropped the quill and buried his face in his hands, shaking, as the paper got wet with salty tears.

He picked up a photograph of the table and looked at a beautiful young woman smiling shyly in front of a bookstore, her raven black hair falling out of her hat and curling around her round cheeks. As he stared, tears ran down his cheeks and his lips shook, crooked and dry from days spent in violent wind.

"Loretta, my darling, I'm sorry, I won't come home again today." His thoughts drifted to back when he was a student in college, an awkward young man with empty pockets and incredible curiosity for everything in the world.