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t to dun his widow。〃
〃Sure was a nice feeling； too；〃 Chuck said around a yawn。 〃More peaceful than nap … time in a monastery。 If it wasn't so pleasant I wouldn't be near so damned scared of it。〃 There was an edge to his voice as he finished； but it disappeared as he added softly； 〃What the hell would you want to be dead for？〃
The Janssen kid couldn't meet his eyes； and when he spoke his voice cracked。 〃Like you said； pop； peace。 A little peace of mind； a little quiet。 Nobody yammering at you all the time。 I mean； if you're dead there's always the chance somebody'll mourn； right？ Make friends with the worms； dig their side of it； maybe a little poltergeist action； who knows？ I mean； what's the sense of talking about it； anyway？ Didn't any of you guys ever just want to run away？〃
〃Sure thing；〃 said Callahan。 〃Sometimes I do it too。 But I generally run someplace I can find my way back from。〃 It was said so gently that the kid couldn't take offense； though he tried。
〃Run away from what； son？〃 asked Slippery Joe。
The kid had been bottled up tight too long； he exploded。 〃From what？〃 he yelled。 〃Jesus； where do I start？ There was this war they wanted me to go and fight； see？ And there's this place called college； I mean they want you to care； dig it； care about this education trip； and they don't care enough themselves to make it as attractive as the crap game across the street。 There's this air I hear is unfit to breathe； and water that ain't fit to drink； and food that wouldn't nourish a vulture and a grand outlook for the future。 You can't get to a job without the car you couldn't afford to run even if you were working； and if you found a job it'd pay five dollars less than the rent。 The TV advertises karate classes for four … year … olds and up； the President's New Clothes didn't wear very well； the next depression's around the corner and you ask me what in the name of God I'm running from？
〃Man； I've been straight for seven months； what I mean； and in that seven god damned months I have been over this island like a fungus and there is nothing for me。 No jobs； no friends； no place to live long enough to get the floor dirty； no money and nobody that doesn't point and say 〃Junkie〃 when I go by for seven months and you ask me what am I running from？ Man； everything is all； just everything。〃
It was right then that I noticed that guy in the corner； the one with the eyes。 Remember him？ He was leaning forward in rapt attention； his mouth a black slash in a face pulled tight as a drumhead。 Those ghastly eyes of his never left the Janssen kid； but somehow I was sure that his awareness included all of us； everyone in the room。
And no one had an answer for the Janssen boy。 I could see； all around the room； men who had learned to listen Callahan's Place； men who had learned to empathize； to want to understand and share the pain of another。 And no one had a word to say。 They were thinking past the blurted words of a haunted boy； wondering if this crazy world of confusion might not after all be one holy hell of a place to grow up。 Most of them already had reason to know damn well that society never forgives the sinner； but they were realizing to their dismay how thin and unforting the straight and narrow has bee these last few years。
Sure； they'd heard these things before； often enough to make them into clichés。 But now I could see the boys reflecting that these were the clichés that made a young man say he liked to feel dead； and the same thought was mirrored on the face of each of them： My God； when did we let these things bee clichés？ The Problems of Today's Youth were no longer a Sunday supplement or a news broadcast or anything so remote and intangible； they were suddenly bee a dirty； shivering boy who told us that in this world we had built for him with our sweat and our blood he was not only tired of living； but so unscared of dying that he did it daily； sometimes； for recreation。
And silence held court in Callahan's Place。 No one had a single thing to say； and that guy with the eyes seemed to know it； and to derive some crazy kind of bitter inner satisfaction from the knowledge。 He started to settle back in his chair； when Callahan broke the silence。
〃So run；〃 he said。
Just like that； flat； no expression； just； 〃So run。〃 It hung there for about ten seconds； while he and the kid locked eyes。
The kid's forehead started to bead with sweat。 Slowly； with shaking fingers； he reached under his leather vest to his shirt pocket。 Knuckles white； he hauled out a flat； shiny black case about four inches by two。 His eyes never left Callahan's as he opened it and held it up so that we could all see the gleaming hypodermic。 It didn't look like it had ever been used； he must have just stolen it。
He held it up to the light for a moment； looking up his bare； unmarked arm at it； and then he whirled and flung it case and all into the giant fireplace。
Almost as it shattered he sent a cellophane bag of white powder after it； and the powder burned green while the sudden stillness hung in the air。 The guy with the eyes looked oddly stricken in some interior way； and he sat absolutely rigid in his seat。
And Callahan was around the bar in an instant； handing the Janssen kid a beer that grew out of his fist and roaring； 〃Wele home； Tommy！〃 and no one in the place was very startled to realize that only Callahan of all of us knew the kid's first name。
We all sort of swarmed around then and swatted the kid on the arm some and he even cried a little until we poured some beer over his head and pretty soon it began to look like the night was going to get merry again after all。
And that's when the guy with the eyes stood up； and everybody in the joint shut up and turned to look at him。 That sounds melodramatic； but it's the effect he had on us。 When he moved； he was the center of attention。 He was tall； unreasonably tall； near seven foot； and I'll never know why we hadn't all noticed him right off。 He was dressed in a black suit that fit worse than a Joliet Special； and his shoes didn't look right either。 After a moment you realized that he had the left shoe on the right foot； and vice … versa； but it didn't surprise you。 He was thin and deeply tanned and his mouth was twisted up tight but mostly he was eyes； and I still dream of those eyes and wake up sweating now and again。 They were like windows into hell； the very personal and private hell of a man faced with a dilemma he cannot resolve。 They did not blink； not once。
He shambled to the bar； and something was wrong with his walk； too； like he was walking sideways on the wall with magnetic shoes and hadn't quite caught the knack yet。 He took ten new singles out of his jacket pocket … which struck me as an odd place to keep cash … and laid them on the bar。
Callahan seemed to e back from a far place； and hustled around behind the bar again。 He looked the stranger up and down and then placed ten shot glasses on the counter。 He filled each with rye and stood back silently； running a big red hand through his thinning hair and regarding the stranger with clinical interest。
The dark giant tossed off the first shot； shuffled