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I drove through the early morning, on a sort of auto pilot as I wove through the traffic heading North. My ass still hurt but it was down to a tingle now, a poignant reminder of the tiger I left behind. I hoped he would find someone less damaged than me out on the road, before it was too late. It was already too late for me.

The long ribbon of asphalt stretched on through an impossibly brown land, still recovering from the summer, with the occasional dead roo by the side where an unfortunate had stayed too long and been taken out by a truck. They were everywhere this time of year, as the forage in the median strip was too good to pass up.

Another hazard lingered in the median, and it was this hazard that claimed me somewhere south of Glenrowan. A cop car parked between trees in the median flashed as I went past about 6:30 and hauled me over. The senior was fairly apologetic and decided to let me off with a caution after a long talk where I said precisely nothing. His offsider, a young PCIT mare, seemed to realise something was up.

"Sir...just a moment."

There was a long pause while they checked everything under the sun, from rego to my license to me. Drug and alcohol testing came on the agenda, and I passed with flying colours. For once I was stone cold sober, unless you counted enough SSRI's to kill my ability to cum. There were no outstanding warrants...I had assault charges pending, another story and another in a long litany of mistakes, but the court case was coming up. My bail didn't prevent me leaving the state, thankfully.

"Sir...is there something wrong?"

The mare made me smile, I realised because she reminded me of someone. In fact, now that I looked at her and mentally removed the uniform, it was quite uncanny, down to the markings on her muzzle and the perfect dun colouring. Still, the name tag said PCIT Tebbutt, and the name wasn't the same. I shook my head sadly, and looked out the window while her colleague finished the paperwork and a last homily before directing me back to the task. I pulled out carefully and made sure I kept it to 110 now, at least until the border where they became decidedly less anal retentive than the Victorian cops who had a budget deficit to fill with an endless supply of kids doing 5 over the limit when they didn't even know it. I felt like telling the mare that, but I could tell she knew anyway. They all did, but as long as they got their overtime and nobody shot at them, the cops I knew were generally happy to do it.

She gave me a last squeeze on the shoulder though, and a 'take care'. I could still feel the warmth of her touch, even as I dropped off the range and down towards Wangaratta and the fog covered the ground like a blanket of cotton wool and the temperature dropped alarmingly. That warmth; I missed that warmth. As I drove, I thought about a dun coloured mare from long ago, and the warmth of her embrace. For a brief moment, both had made me feel whole.

*****

I had reached a sort of armed neutrality with Nick. He knew not to try anything, at all after a while. If I heard about him trying it on with anyone, I let him know my displeasure in no uncertain terms. What I lacked in bulk at 13, I made up for in anger. Nick seemed to know, and though he would scowl, he gave up stepping out of line.

With the patient aid of Stoney I was getting big, or bigger. I ate like a horse, no pun intended, and pumped weights 4 nights a week, alternating my workouts with circuit and focus on upper body and lower body to keep from overloading my still growing frame. I was already too big to ignore though, topping 6 feet easily and apparently well on the way to 7 if I kept going. I didn't mind, the bigger the better. Stoney would concentrate on weights and exercise mostly, making sure I did endurance work and flexibility work so I didn't get injuries, but he kept an eye on the rest of me too, but subtly.

We would only talk when we were doing weights. That was the deal. But he could slip stuff in when I wasn't expecting it, and when I was exhausted from a session, I would answer before I could stop myself. That was why Stoney ended up being the only person I ever spoke to about some things, for a long long time. He became for a little while my therapist.

"So, have you had any flashbacks recently Danny?"

"Most nights, but not much during the day...hey, what tha...?"

He just smiled and held out his hands.

"Danny, we didn't have this conversation ok?"

"Yeah, ok by me..."

"When you came here, we were briefed. Its standard, if a student has particular needs, we need to know and be prepared."

I kind of assumed, but it still hurt. I put the weights back carefully in the rack, and doubled over in pain. It wasn't a physical pain though, something worse. He realised he had crossed a line and tried to backtrack, but it was too late.

"I'm sorry Danny, I shouldn't have said."

"No, It's ok. Just, I didn't want anyone to know."

"I know, but think of it as a plus. I know already, so you don't have to hide."

I admitted I was having problems in my new home, but not exactly what, and he didn't pry this time, just letting me talk it out. It was like that through the session, he just listened, and I talked openly about the nightmares for the first time. He had no answers did Stoney, but somehow just having him there helped me keep going.

*****

When I got back to the home, I noticed right away that Nick was smirking like a triumphant fool. This could not be good. When I got to my room, I found a note from Joel demanding my presence in the study. I wasn't prepared for the cops that were waiting though. I managed to relax a fraction when I saw a familiar face, though I was still on high alert.

"Danny, good to see you again."

I just nodded and eyed up the bull. He was even bigger than I remembered, and he wore his suit badly, something I found pretty consistent with cops. Detective Sergeant Renquist, all 300 pounds of him. He had a welcoming smile though, and under the hide there was a heart. I don't know how he managed to work in sex crimes, but he seemed to keep pretty level.

He had a new offsider this time, a nervous doe called Djumas with a slight eye twitch. I turned off any part of me that could feel and became the dispassionate bastard who could survive. I gave the doe about 6 months before she cracked, she was already wound up like a top.

"Danny, we have been discussing with Joel here that there have been some developments. And we need your help."

"Oh good, this must be interesting."

"Danny, we have him in custody. We caught him; in Queensland. He was mixed up in something else, drugs which of course wont surprise you. He is going to be extradited to face trafficking charges here. And of course, if you are able to commit to testifying..."

My carefully considered calm shattered in an instant. What I wanted and feared had happened, and now I faced the decision I couldn't make.

"We are updating the brief of evidence Danny, for the DPP. If it is sold, we think its likely he will plead, and you wont need to go to court. We need a few things though..."

They always needed a few things. This time it seemed they needed more photos for the brief detailing permanent injuries, and an updated victim impact statement, just a few things; because that is always so much easier. The killer came in the detail; according to Joel, if I was engaged in an active case, there was a good chance Ms Chew could get me into a special placement with a carer. The carrot and the stick, it was always the carrot and the stick.

In a daze I accepted, though my heart was twisted into a sort of crossed fingers maybe, an abnegation of the reality. Maybe I wouldn't have to. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe, just maybe, he would off himself in custody and do the world a favour. I was not destined to be that lucky.

Instead I had a date with the police surgeon and the police psychiatrist, which were about as pleasant as eachother. There is nothing more demeaning and invasive that having photos taken of anal fissures, except perhaps endlessly repeating the details of the nightmares in which you got them with a dispassionate shrink with a scratchy pen. My mind fled in these sessions to the thought of Clay, holding my hand, puffing smoke rings out the window and talking about football. Anything but this.

For once the department were true to their word though, and I had a placement to look forward to. I celebrated with one last blow out, our merry band knocking over another drive thru bottle shop for several bottles and slabs. I sat in the park eyeing off Nick while sucking down Bundy rum. It had quickly become my favourite, and I found I could hack the taste and the burning in my muzzle long enough to get stinking drunk and still remain just competent enough to scare Nick off. Whereas Nick, bless his equine heart, had taken to vodka this time and got totally magotted.

The deep angry heart of me came out now, with the booze and the pain. I would have to leave my old school, the principal had taken the opportunity with my latest change in abode to kick me to the curb with the politest of apologies. My 'behaviour issues' could be managed better elsewhere, it seemed. Stoney had gone in to bat for me, but nobody listened to him anymore, students or faculty. Our last session had been a quiet affair, but it ended with him handing me a workout schedule and his favourite book of exercise tips.

Now I felt the anger building, and the hurt, and Nick was a convenient receptacle for both. He had no friends in the home, only hangers on who wanted to be on his right side lest they be on the receiving end, nobody to take his back. I felt it for the first time inside, the feeling I dreaded and was always on guard for, and still am, the one that haunts my nights as much as the nightmares. The one that wants to get even.

I didn't do what part of me wanted, which I guess is to my credit a little. Instead, when he collapsed drunk as a skunk, drooling on the ground, I pulled his pants down and masturbated a huge load all over his rear, clagging up his tail and down his crevice. Let him ponder on that in the morning, and wonder. Then I followed up by pissing on his back and head, decorating his mane with a stream of golden hate. A couple of the guys cheered, nobody tried to stop me. Then I took the bottle of Bundy and there were some objections, but I had already checked out and anyone who tried to stop me was getting it through the chest. They seemed to know. I bathed in that fear as much as it repulsed me. Being a confirmed psycho is a two edged sword.

Back through my window and into bed, I took out the box cutter I had stolen from the art room at school and for the first time sliced into my arm. It felt almost as good as spunking all over Nick's ass, and just as transgressive. Blood flowed, and I just watched it, sitting in a daze in a pool of it while the hours ticked by.

Some time around 5 a.m. a still drunk and incoherent Nick slammed his way into my room and I was still in the same position. He took one look at me, holding the box cutter, with dried blood now crusted on my arm and knee, turned even whiter and headed for the bathroom. He was still hucking his guts out when I left for good a few hours later. Joel accepted my 'nose bleed' excuse for the blood because he didn't want the paperwork.

The new house was a very ordered affair, as was its owner. A tall thin mare by the name of Ellen, with wide blue eyes and a decent heart. She knew when to leave well alone did Ellen, and when to prod, and I found myself relaxing in subtle ways at home, though the new school was a horror I managed to survive by the simple expedient of not ever coming out of a sort of semi-comatose trance. The teachers rapidly realised there was no point asking me questions and let me sit at the back and exist. The only time I came out of the trance was the end of the day when I headed for the gym. With Stoney's training schedules and his encouragement via email, I kept up the regime and even got some grudging admiration from the 'hard men' in the school. It was tentative, but for the first time I felt a little sense of belonging.

The new equilibrium was disturbed after a couple of weeks by a new arrival, and not for once another foster kid like me. Instead, it was Ellen's daughter, a nervous and depressed mare by the name of Jennifer. At 25 she had broken up with her finacee, and hit the skids in a big way. She was coming home, for how long nobody knew, and I had to move to the smaller spare room so she could have her old one back for now.

At first, she was very quiet, and we barely exchanged a word. After a week though, and with the end of the school year, I found myself at home with her while Ellen went to work, and we began to talk.

She prodded through my shyness, and I responded to her interest, basking in the glow. She intrigued me, and I clearly intrigued her, and I just loved the feeling of having someone who cared. I even managed to make her smile and laugh, with random anecdotes of my stupid school days, or some of my stupider exploits in the homes. She wasn't into judgement, or pity it seemed. Just into finding another fur to share this shit sandwich with. A little like Clay, but with the added attraction of age and sophistication.

The easy intimacy of our talks and walks grew, and I got her out jogging with me. She complained loudly, of course, and I told her she would look even better with my help, and make her ex jealous as fuck. That made her hide behind her forelock and blush, and I realised I had been chatting her up, almost without realising. She joined me for the jog though, and again the next day when I got her out of bed early and made her join me for a long run through the parks nearby. She had taken to staying in bed late, and I kidded her about giving up, though I could see her mum was worried by the looks. Where Ellen's passive aggressive pout had failed, an enthusiastic thirteen year old colt succeeded, and I felt a pride I hugged to my chest like a warm blanket.

Then by the end of the week, with Ellen out for the night, Jennifer decided to treat me to a special dinner as a thank you. One that she finished with a large bottle of white wine, and as a now experienced boozer, I demanded my share. She obliged, with a girlish giggle for being so bad as to corrupt me. I was well corrupted already, of course, as she knew by now as I had confessed most of my sins.

In the glow of post dinner wine fuelled comfiness, things went haywire.

At first she talked about her ex, who it turned out had abused her emotionally until she had no confidence left. I hated her pain, it cut like a knife seeing her anguish. I knew what it was like being made to feel worthless.

"He's a maggot. If I see him, I am going to beat the shit out of him."

"Danny! You can't go around beating everyone up!"

"I'll make an exception for him. I'm not afraid of him. I'm bigger, and stronger, I bet. And I don't fear anyone any more."

She shook her head and gave me a sleepy eyed look, but one with a lot of affection.

"Danny, I can manage. After all, with your training, I will be a karate mare in no time."

That made me giggle, and she looked so good smiling at me from behind her forelock.

"You are so beautiful Jen. He's an idiot to lose you."

There, I had said it. I didn't even know where it came from. It made her blush more, and change the subject, but I knew it hit home from the look she gave me.

"You are such a harsh trainer Danny." She gave me a mock reproving finger waggle, and grimaced as if every muscle had exploded. I just laughed.

"Hah! You don't know what hard work is. Wait till I get you in the gym!"

"Nooooo! Spare my body the pain you nasty horse."

"You are just soft. And chicken."

"You rude colt! I should spank you for that!"

"Hey!"

She lunged at me and landed a slap on my ass, still giggling, and I wrestled her easily to a stop while she cracked up. I was giggling too, though my ass did hurt a bit.

"You probably are making it all up about your gym exploits. I bet you are a fifty pound weakling under the sweat top and Dave would beat you to a pulp."

"Hey! That's bullshit!"

"Go on, prove it." Her expression was pure mischief, and I didn't read the signs, mostly because I had never seen them before.

"Fine!"

I stripped off my top, ignoring the scream in my head that said no. And then I stood and popped a bodybuilding pose, pecs and abs and shoulders and biceps all straining proudly, ears twitching and mane flicking as I grinned in pride.

Her expression glazed over, and she stared. I felt suddenly self-conscious, and reached for my top scowling.

"No! Please...Danny, please leave it off...you're beautiful stud..."

Those words entered my brain and my heart and I was lost. Nobody said that. Nobody.

She reached for me, hesitantly, and ran a fingerhoof over my coat. Across my chest, down my abdomen, along my arm. It burned so good, and I nickered, embarrassed. I felt something too, something I didn't expect. It felt good too, and wonderful, and surprising.

I was hardening, dropped and ready. I was a stallion after all. Ever since the night, ever since Him, I had assumed he had taken that away from me, and I would never be able to react right with a mare. He told me so, while he was doing me, telling me how I would never be a stallion, and didn't deserve to be. And yet, here I was, with a beautiful mare, and I was ready. Her nostrils flared, and she could tell it too.

"Oh Danny...this is so wrong..."

Yes, I knew it was. Wrong. Bad. Like me, broken and twisted and wrong. And yet, I knew I had to, if she wanted. And she did, it seemed, for whatever she was saying, it didn't stop her pulling me into her arms for a long heated kiss, my naked fur rubbing across her shirt, muzzle on muzzle, her fingers digging into my back until she found the ugly ridges of scar tissue and I held my breath assuming she would turn me away once she felt them.

She looked into my eyes instead, and saw my fear, and kissed me until I relaxed. I heard her give a sort of quiet sob, and a tear dripped from her left eye, both closed tight as she kissed. She didn't stop though, and instead pulled me by the hand towards her room.

She lay me down and stripped me off and I lay there, mostly just hoping I wouldn't lose my erection and shame myself any more. I didn't need to worry though, and as she straddled my hips and stroked my length with a hand, she bent down to kiss me and I felt the magic feel of a mare's pussy for the first time as she took me into her with quiet intensity.

I lasted only a couple of minutes, and I didn't even feel the orgasm, not really. Not in my body anyway, which was too charged and tense. I felt it in my heart though, even more when she kissed me and told me how beautiful I was and how good I made her feel. Then we stared again, and I lasted long enough for her to cry out and collapse on me now crying hard enough that tears dripped onto my muzzle and I lapped them up with my tongue.

I knew I should feel bad, or used, or something. Mostly I was elated. He hadn't taken this from me, He hadn't won. And with her over me, taking me inside, telling me how good I was, I felt worthwhile for a brief glistening moment. I mattered to her, enough to do this thing, even a gawky stupid waste of a colt. I would hold that, use it to sustain me. It was the first of many times, but like any drug, you needed more for the same high as time went on. This first time though, I felt so triumphant.

We cuddled, and she ran her hands over my back, tracing the lines of my scars. She didn't say anything, just looked at me with something I couldn't recognise, but at least it wasn't pity. Then she fell asleep, still cuddled, and I managed to untangle myself reluctantly from her warm embrace and slip into my room before Ellen came home and busted us.

Next morning she was apologetic, and embarrassed. It was a mistake, she was drunk, I had taken advantage of her. I felt like the worst loser on earth, of course, and headed out for a long jog without her, punishing my body to make it hurt so I wouldn't feel. When I came back a long time later, she was so worried about me, yelling and screaming as if I had done it deliberately to make her worry. Maybe I had, I still don't know. I knew my everything hurt, hooves and fetlocks and thighs and ass, and my chest burned like a fire.

Ignoring her tirade, I headed for the shower, letting the warm water just flow and trying to forget. It was all a lie, it seemed. I wasn't beautiful, wasn't desirable, wasn't a stallion. It was just as He said after all, I was so bad I had made her hate me. I rubbed the soap so hard into my coat it hurt and yelled at the top of my lungs in frustration, pounding the tiles with my fists.

The shower door opened, and I turned off the water, peeling my mane out of my eyes to see. She was there, standing in the bathroom in front of me, her chest heaving and tears flowing hard. She couldn't blame the wine this time, and neither could I. I knew I wanted, craved even. In her arms I felt normal, or as normal as I could ever. What her motivations were, she kept to herself. We haven't spoken since.

This time, I took charge, clumsily, but with decision. My lips roamed over her until I drew a few moans, louder ones once I lapped at her sex and felt her hands wrapped tight in my mane pulling me into her. Then I entered her, all the time watching her. Any hint of disapproval, and I could have stopped, but there wasn't any, just a deep aching hunger and need in her eyes that made me feel so good and so worthwhile I almost cried too. I still didn't last, but this time at least I felt it, a warm rush of joy that took my breath away, and then again when I recovered and managed to give her something back with my body and my heart before we lay entwined and played with each other's mane and made silly promises of love and care that could never be true.

The inevitable happened of course, as I should have anticipated, let alone Jen. We were locked in an embrace in the kitchen one day when Ellen came home unexpectedly. She had gone to work feeling unwell, and a summer cold had claimed her until her colleagues had sent her home before she infected them. So she had walked into the kitchen, and found Jen kissing my naked chest while I cupped her beautiful dun coloured ass with gentle fingers and laughed at the way her lips tickled my nipples, delighted by the unexpected sensations. We froze, both too stunned to react, as Ellen stood horrified watching us unable to move.

By mutual agreement nothing was said, though Ms Chew kind of suspected. She was angry, and frustrated, and she lectured like a mother. I kind of liked that, if I was honest. It was the first hint she actually did give a shit.

"Danny, you have to stop...you have to learn to control yourself."

I nodded, internalising the idea that I was the one wrong thing in the universe, the total epicentre of wrongness. In later times, I tried to be angry with Jen, but in truth, I still like her. She gave me a gift, though in the worst of circumstances. I still thank her for it.

The good news was that I would be going back to my original group home at least. I was too thrilled about going somewhere familiar, and seeing Clay again, to ask the questions yet. It was Christmas Eve when I pulled up outside the familiar house, and when I got through the door, I headed straight for the husky's room, and his big grin made me feel even better than Jen had. He bounced off the bed and we clunked a huge awkward hug, complete with accidental nose bump that hurt and made us laugh equally.

"Bend over for an ass whupping pony"

"Hey, I thought you were pleased to see me?"

"Yeah, but I also told you if you fucked up..."

I did remember, and I grinned ruefully and presented my ass for him. He gave me a playful slap and then hugged again.

"Weak as piss Clay. That's not an ass whipping."

"I know. Couldn't stay angry at you stupid horse. Just glad to have someone interesting back to talk to. Summer is the pits without good company."

I knew the feeling. My last school holidays had been pretty grim, with one dead beat boyfriend of my mums after another ignoring or yelling at me in turns. I couldn't have friends over, and the ones I had didn't want me around their place as their parents tried to protect them from contamination with my home situation by making me unwelcome in their homes. At least I had someone here to talk too, and share the loneliness with.

That night, I lay awake in my new room looking up at the ceiling, thinking of Jen. I had lost my old one, and picked up Jim's instead. The bull had gone, where I wasn't sure. When my husky friend came in, I smiled at him in the darkness, getting a big gleaming husky smile in return. He offered me a cigarette, and I surprised him by taking one and accepting the lighter as my due. We both looked out the window at the moon while we lay together, just two guys sharing a smoke.

"So hoss, tell me about your latest place. What the fuck happened?"

I was so proud, and so happy to no longer be a virgin and a confirmed stallion in spite of everything, that I recounted everything, even though I knew I shouldn't say anything. Somehow I thought Clay would not squeal, and anyway, I wanted his approval bad. His whistles of surprised admiration told me I had that at least.

"Wow, stud hoss. You are badass Dan. Pity you got kicked out."

"Yeah, I miss her."

"Hehe I can tell mate. You're trying to punch through my side."

I realised in embarrassment that I had thrown a huge erection while telling Clay about Jen, and my horsecock was pressed against his side. I rolled over with an apology, feeling awkward, but he gripped my shoulder and stopped me.

"Hoss, don't worry, honest. Its fine. I'm just jealous. Besides, maybe I can help you out."

My face burned before my brain registered what he was intending. I froze.

"Uhhh...Clay...wha..."

"Shh, relax hoss. Just helping out a mate is all. You got me all raging with talk of you mounting that mare anyway, I've got to do something about it too. Besides, it's Christmas. I didn't get you a present...well, this is the best I can do mate."

He looked into my eyes, and I felt his paw inching along my hip, until he gripped my cock through the fabric. My whole body gave a jerk, as did my cock, going from partially erect to achingly erect in his grasp.

"Just let me make you feel good mate, ok?"

"Ok..."

We didn't kiss. It was one of the less intimate moments, in a way, in a life of painfully unerotic sex. But there was something special about it too, my husky determined to make me feel good just because. His paw slid inside my boxers, and I tensed, but relaxed when he just gripped my cock and didn't roam to other places. I couldn't imagine being touched by a guy there; not on my ass. Not after Him. But Clay was careful, and Clay was kind, reading my signals and sticking to something I could pass off as a bit of experimentation.

Its ok, you aren't gay. It's just a mate helping out a mate. You fucked a mare, after all. You're a stud.

As I closed my eyes and let my body take over, I felt his own movements and realised he was jacking off too. I opened my eyes enough to see, taking in the pulsing red of his hard cock, the sheen of excitement on it, the leaking tip, and the expression on his face. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, tongue out as he enjoyed. I closed my eyes again, trying hard not to get into it too much. As his stroking reached down my cock and past my medial though, I couldn't help moaning, a sound matched by his woofs of pleasure.

When I came, it felt good, wracking my body for long moments before leaving me tired and relaxed. He came soon after, and I felt him go quiet, lying back next to me. Everything was sticky, and hot, and he wiped his paws on the bed and the whole room stank of cum and sex. I enjoyed it, opening my nostrils wide to drink it in, while he handed me another cigarette.

"Geeze you're a big one Dan. I know you are a horse but...wow...lucky mare..."

He was grinning, the flash of his muzzle surrounding the red glow of the cigarette. I slapped his ass with mock anger and he coughed before returning the favour. That was all we could manage for intimacy for now, but it was enough.

"Merry Christmas stupid hoss. I'm glad to have you back though."

"Yeah, though I'm not sure about this room. Bloody Jim, the whole place stinks of moo."

"Well, he got to go home. So I guess, he is the lucky bastard of us all."

We both saluted him with our cigarettes, enjoying a puff in the afterglow of our furtive coupling, while we watched the light slowly reach across the sky on Christmas morning. It would be the first for me in care, the first of 5 it turned out. All different, all awkward. On this occasion though, all I could think about was the dun coloured mare who made me feel good but troubled, and a husky in bed beside me who made me feel the same.

When our Lead Resident came to rouse me from sleep for a special Christmas breakfast of pancakes, I didn't even mind that he found us together. I had someone. That made me someone too, at least a little bit.

*****

The signs pointed to the border, and the mass of Albury/Wodonga on the horizon. Thank God for the bypass, otherwise I would be stuck in there for hours negotiating my way through early morning traffic. As it was, I sped up and headed for the bridge and the Murray, and a long stretch of New South Wales to come.

I could almost feel that first pawjob in my groin. I gave a slight wistful grin, feeling my sheath stir at that. Of course, it had been only the beginning, and Clay was careful to lead me on in easy stages through my anxiety and my shyness. Not like Jen, who burst from zero to a hundred miles an hour in one glorious night. And they say the young are impetuous.

The Dun coloured mare and the husky filled my mind. Both broken, both loving in their own fashion. Both healed a part of me, a part that needed it whether I knew or not. While the mare had remained a momentary thing, kept in the depths of memory though, Clay had been an ongoing presence. One I found I could not do without.

The thought made me sad again, as I remembered why I was here. So many. So fucking many.

Like Stoney, my lost but well-meaning protector. I had his book until last year, but it now rests in his coffin, after the heart attack he had been working on finally claimed the defeated guy still waiting on a retirement and a pension that never came.

Or Jim, who lasted about a month with his mum before he got into trouble. Eventually he got caught in a stolen car with some mates, who tried to run from the cops and smashed into a pole instead. Now he spends his days in a nursing home for old people because there are none for young quadraplegics, a broken shell of the angry defiant bull I knew. He is alive, which puts him one step above many of the guys I knew, though there is sometimes a fine line between life and mere existence.

Or Clay. My Clay.

As Victoria receded and New South Wales opened up before me I turned on the radio again. I just prayed I didn't get any more that reminded me of him, or I might not make it to Sydney.