One sunny afternoon I ambled down the hill to the corner cafe in search of the company of friends. I met a stranger and we played a game of chess over the strongest cup of caffeine I have ever completed.

He seemed sincere yet strong, sensitive yet tough. He didn't complain about his wounds. His breath was foul but his speech was clear.

He asked me what I thought of the headlines. I replied that I thought they could work it out, and in fact must. They will learn to live together sooner or later, I said. Most everyone does. Otherwise their children and grandchildren will have a bad time of it. Why put it off?

Why indeed, he replied and checked my king. 

As I recall, his reply to my optimism went something like this:

The present age continues the fragmentation of the Western community built during the Catholic centuries on the foundation inherited from the Romans. He claimed that the disintegration continues on all levels, creating the inability to join or sacrifice, the inability to a virtue. Despite the modern inventions of liberty and science, which were expected to replace the old ways, things have not gotten better. Liberty, once defined as the power to do what must be done, is merely a choice between pleasures. Science has shrugged off its promise and serves business, which supports only the freedom to purchase. He said we live like parasites on the fallen great, on the blood of martyrs, on the great books. No one will ever live off the poison we leave behind. And so we move, the product of our histories.

He left me with this little story, written in pencil on a torn scrap of a shopping bag:

"Ohio. Sitting on the ground, the hungry child clutches the headless, naked doll. I try to build a fire but it does not kindle and so I abandon her, heading further from the burning city, following the destruction as the million swarm from the cities to scourge the planet. I haven't eaten for seven days. Do I need to get to the edge? Will they need me there?"

I tossed his note into the trash.