There are too many of us, he thought. There are billions of us and that’s too many. Nobody knows anyone. Strangers come and violate you. Strangers come and cut your heart out. Strangers come and take your blood. Good God, who were those men? I never saw them before in my life!
Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange, stranger than fiction: if it could be told, how much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!
You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.
A short story is a different thing all together – a short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.