Pilgrimage. He could relate.

 

He ate alone at a table near the back of the rustic-inspired space.

 

The weather was clear now, but he had heard on the radio that a storm front was

approaching and that it would bring rain and strong winds later that night.

 

He looked at his map and calculated that he would arrive at his destination in

the afternoon, late or early depending on how soon he got on the road and how

bad the traffic was.

 

He ate breakfast for dinner, cutting the sausage patties into four equal pieces

and running them through his dense grits before putting them in his mouth.

 

In his mind he was placing his plan into quadrants too and then prioritizing

each one. Military precision. If he ever needed his training, he needed it now.

 

He rubbed his head. It had become a habit so ingrained that sometimes he didn’t

even know he was doing it.

 

He looked around the large dining room once more and noted that many of the men

had World War II caps on with stitched lettering signifying the military

branches they had served in during the war.