#3I think you are angry
I don’t know why
but I know tonight you will pick up a fight with your wife and if she does not respond properly, and there is no such thing as responding properly when you are angry, you will beat her. You will hurt her because you are hurt. Not that leg they cut you during the war: that one does not hurt. You pride hurts instead. Before cutting your leg in the hospital, the world insulted you, humiliated you, treated you as a dirt in that ditch called the war. Yes. you were sitting in a ditch with 50 other men, without food or water for days on end, with guns, with rain, mud shit cigarettes and booze. And you were even winning that fucking war. Every time you managed to come out of the ditch you would have a bucket of money; money you would take to you family or just to some other women and men. You stopped caring about money, you forgot why you were fighting the war in the first place. You forgot who were the good guys who were the bad guys. You forgot your wive, her sweet little smile, you kids who are not kids anymore, you house where the grass is not green anymore but tall and withered. Neglected like your hair, like your nails, like your soul. You know what, you are a dead man really: you hair is still growing over you head in clouds but you are gone and only your angry pain is still on earth with the living. You are the cross the humankind has to bear, a price to pay for making men like you. For turning you from energetic boys into dead beasts.