I'm the youth who every morning takes Dad's rifle to the field for practice, in case. The chaw-kids laugh. Until I see the Drifter forcing Ma into the barn. Shoot him dead. Too bad about the blood. I'm the youth whose winning ticket's torn in all those bent and dirty pieces on the floor. All I need is just to make them fit and slowly walk the crime- filled streets to the redemption center.
A. Y. Tanaka