I have, on occasion, unintentionally come into contact with pieces of information regarding my disappearance from Memphis, and the lingering questions over what exactly to do with my rather large insurance disbursement.
At first, there were more questions about my disappearance than the money. Now it seems that the money is all anyone is concerned with.
Which is, in many ways, indicative of the state of the world.
There should be no great mystery about my motivation to abandon my former life. There was no scandal or knives in the dark.
If fact, it was a rather simple thing that made me change the course of my life. One day I had cause to step out of my house in my bare feet – chasing a dog away from my flower beds or some such nonsense.
I could not believe how much it hurt to do this. As a boy, I used to run barefoot across the roughest ground, forgoing shoes all summer if my mother let me.
My life of fine leather shoes and plush carpets over hardwood floors had made my feet soft; made me soft.
I merely felt that needed to change, so I left it all behind.
I came across a newspaper clipping from the 1880s about an affluent man that disappeared one night. No one knew if he was the victim of a random crime or disappeared because of some dark secret. I think I prefer my answer to the other two more plausible, but much more depressing, options.