I have a hunger, for more than food. I have a hunger bigger than Joyce City. I want tongues to tie, and eyes to shine at me like they do at Mad Dog Craddock. Course they never will, not with my hands all scarred up, looking like the earth itself, all parched and rough and cracking, but if I played right enough, maybe they would see past my hands. Maybe they could feel at ease with me again, and maybe then, I could feel at east with myself.