He went camping in the woods for six, seven days at a time. The trees were steep and rough and they made him very nervous, but he didn’t bring a tent – he was never much good at setting things up.

Sometimes it would start raining and he would have to go home early, dripping on his welcome mat at 5:30 in the morning.

On the days he didn’t camp, he sat at home with his legs down and his head up, working on things that let him keep on going. He got on and off the phone, made the T.V. flicker, watched the headlights of the cars sweeping eyes across his thin blinds. Sometimes, people came over, and he served them drinks and watched their Adam’s apples bob.

When he got the chance, though, he would send his car slip-sliding up the backroad’s slope, listening to music out the tinted window as his tires scraped themselves clean. He would lie in his tent and listen to the slow creak of the air, making the trees grow taller as he hoped it didn’t rain. And sometimes he lit a candle and made it a flame.