As the curtain closed, as the echoes stood up to leave: He wouldn't of done it for any other reason--he didn't want to have anybody to have to take the risk just for--I guess not, old fellow, because there wasn't anybody but him left--He did it because--I guess not--because everybody left and he knows he can't run them logs down by himself--He did it because . . . he finally saw how it was . . . because . . . he finally saw that there wasn't any sense. Because of rust, of rot. Of push, of squeeze. Because there is really no strength beyond the strength of those around you. Because of weakness. Because of no grit, no grit anywhere at all and labor availeth not. Because all is vanity and vexation of the spirit. Because of that drum on the donkey forever breaking down. Of bruises from springbacks. Of sinus headaches and ingrown toenails. Of rain and the seas are still not full. Because of everything coming so thick and so fast for so long for so very long for finally too long. . .