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.

Memphis Note
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.

When they got back to camp after patrol, the tar fires were already roaring. Thick, black smoke rolled in to the air, and an unmistakable smell filled their noses. The effluvium from the fires was supposed ward off malaria from bogs all around the city.

Murphy and Luther broke off from the rest of their company and headed toward the weathered canvas tent they slept in.

“I hate that stink,” Luther said dropping his pack to the ground.

“Yep, but it’s much preferred to crappin’ my guts out while a fever burns the rest of me.” Replied Murphy, doing the same.

Luther grunted a half-hearted agreement as he peeled one of his boots off.

“Pshoo!” Murphy exclaimed at the smell coming from Luther’s boots. “You carryin’ a dead skunk in those?

“That odor ain’t nothin‘ more than the evidence of a hard day’s work, you sissy.” Luther growled defensively.

“Hell, Luther, those ain’t boots. They’re our own personal tar fire. Ain’t no way we’re catchin’ anything with those stink pots in here. ‘Course, the stench might suffocate us before the dawn.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout the boots. I might be the one doin’ the suffocatin’ you don’t shut your trap.”

Memphis Note
In addition to yellow fever, malaria was a constant threat during the summer months as mosquitoes spawned in the stagnant water swamps around Memphis. During the Civil War, when there were large numbers of soldiers sleeping outdoors, the disease was kept at bay by burning tar fires. The horrible stink apparently repelling the disease carrying mosquitoes.