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Credat Judaeus apella, non ego.


[Inside the Glenwood Santorium]

"How we feelin' today, Doc?"

"I'm dyin'. How are you?"

"Pretty much the same."

"So now we can add "self-pity" to your list of frailties?"

"Alright, Doc. Alright, how many cards you want?"

"I don't want to play anymore."

"How many?"

"Damn it, you're the most fallible, stubborn, self-deluded, bullheaded man I've ever known in my entire life."

"I call. [looks at Doc's cards] You win."

"Yet, with all ... You're the only human being in my entire life that ever gave me hope.  [pauses, reminiscing] I was in love once.  My first cousin.  She was 15.  We were both so ...."

"That's good, Doc.  That's good.  What happened?"

"She joined a convent over the affair.  She was all I ever wanted. What did you ever want?"

"Just to live a normal life."

"There's no 'normal life,' Wyatt, it's just 'life.' Get on with it."

"Don't know how."

"Sure you do: say goodbye to me, go grab your computer, and fire off an interesting question to for this week's Battle Red Bag. Take that humor from it; don't look back.  Email another question next week.  Email right on to the end.  Email, Wyatt. Email for me. [pauses, collects himself] Wyatt, if you were ever my friend --- if ya ever had even the slightest of feelin' for me ---  email now. Email now, please."

"Thanks for always being there, Doc."