I caught the glance of an old man sitting on a bench in Chattanooga.
On his head was a greased back do.
On his face was a white stache.
In his left hand were four bags from "where shopping is a pleasure."
In his right was a credit card being fiddled with.
His eyes told me to run.
"What is 'this'?"
"Everything surrounding us right now. This stuff isn't worth it. Run to the mountains."
I don't know what they meant by that, but that's what the eyes said.