He stayed in the subway entrance for a long time, until he notices a taxi driver watching him closely. Tossing away his flask, he strolled aimlessly toward the north.
There was a gun store at the corner of the first cross street he came to. Every sort of long and short gun was carefully arrayed behind its metal grille. He had passes this place before, the last time he was in VA, and been drawn to the display window then as well. He remembered being surprised at how death calmly watching them as they crossed the street. He seemed to be the only one around who looked on death as something serious, certainly the only one who felt that he'd been destroyed by wanting and being denied death... As he saw the guns laying so comfortably in the window, he felt different parts of his body begin to twitch violently. He again felt the thin crispness of his own skull. Standing before this window, he realized he suffered from an in curable nervous fatigue.
