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Not to digress on dirges of wars long since lost, nor scourges soon to be solved, I saw Big Bill back at the bar one night about a year ago. I came in to drop off some money. He had the same red hair and denim jacket, and was drinking with some woman I did not know. I knew he divorced his wife. He walked over to the counter, bottle down by his waist, in a daze.
"Hey," I greeted him. "What are you doing?"
"Killing myself"--he said, matter-of-factly, so drunk he did not notice the three-inch string of snot that hung from his cheek. He shrugged, and did an about face. I never saw his broad shoulders again.
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