Snyder sat in silence beside Blackjack, who drove a rental gray Ford Escape on a highway headed towards Los Angeles.
Blackjack sighed. āOkay, Iāll bite. Kid, why did you go to San Diego?ā
Snyder sighed. āI wanted to get away, and it was the destination of the next metro headed out of town.ā
āYour mother was worried.ā
āWell, I donāt care anymore.ā
Blackjack jerked off the road. āWhat?ā
āI donāt care if sheād belt me, if sheād ap-prove, if sheād disapprove. Iāve resolved Iām not going to care. Iām going to live for me.ā
āHell of a philosophy. Same as Dreadās.ā
āIām nothing like him!ā
āHe cares about himself, what he wants, thatās it. He couldnāt care less what happens to others. The good news is you canāt just sign up to be a sociopath. Can be tempting, though. If you never care, you never hurt, and nobody can ever stab you in the back.ā
āYou make it sound like a crutch.ā
āBecause it is. Itās running from the world. Drown your pain in booze or gamble it into nothing. Nobody cares about you, you donāt care about nobody. But itās a miserable life.ā
Blackjack stared Snyder in the eye. āDonāt run from the world. It needs you too much. You not only care, you can do something.ā Blackjack merged back into traffic. āOkay, end of speech. We got a plastic surgeon to meet.ā
Somethingās different about Blackjack. āDidnāt I read that your kid died?ā
Blackjack nodded. āDrunk driver hit him six months ago.ā
āThe goodbye is not forever.ā
Blackjack found religion?
At least Blackjackās not a Bible beater. Thatās about as close heāll ever come to āwitnessing.ā
Continued Next Thursday
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