I can see him, through the window. His head is bowed low, shaggy hair covering his face. I can’t see them, but I just know there are dried tear tracks down his cheeks.

My heart aches for this stranger, and I’m not quite sure why. At one time I thought I knew him. Maybe I still do, maybe he’s still in there, this friend that I now can only look at. I am shut out.

I hold a brick in my hand. I have to do something! I chuck it at the window, but it bounces off. He lifts his head. His eyes stare hollowly at the glass. I wave frantically, but his stare goes through to my soul.

It must be one-way glass he has closed himself behind. Angry, I turn to run, only to collapse in utter heartache. I cry huge tears, mourning him as if he were dead.

Why do I care so much for this stranger? I rationalize. Why do I try? Let him either come out here to me or let him stay in there forever! I have my own life out here.

But who am I if I turn away? I wipe my tears.

I’ll be back, with an ax. You hang in there, buddy.