His thick, veiny hand creaked slowly open and I pulled back the solderin’ iron. He judged my work with eyes that I reckon were probably normal-sized, but were so deep-set that they looked positively tiny, peerin’ out from that overhang forehead of his. That forehead absolutely burstin’ with knowledge.

“What this means,” he began, and I moved to the next connection, takin’ his silence as an affirmatory. “Is that our problems, in the end, stem from the impossible expectations thrust upon us by the society into which we are born.” I nodded, a little uncomfortable like, sneakin’ a glance at the clock. “You cannot help anyone... you will not help anyone… without addressing this fundamental concern.”

The way he talked was real slow and deliberate like he was tryna keep the knowledge from breakin’ through the dam if you see what I mean. Like he was tryin’ his darndest to keep the flow of wise words at a speed I could handle, without going completely loony from the truth he was revealin’ – not that it bothered me, mind you.

His far-away eyes squinted ever so slightly and I undid the new connection, starting it from scratch.

iny hand-creaked