Troubled, that was the feeling that Clay felt. He was surrounded by it. He could feel the heavy workings of it. Every move weighted, every thought heavier. He took another step, fog can do things to a man’s thoughts. Some liked it, loved it, ran through it. Not Clay, it was stifling to him. He longed to see far, look at what he heard, in a fog, none of that showed itself. In a fog, on the road, a man walked with himself.
His apartment was cozy, and he enjoyed its comforts when he found time. Some days, though, he’d dream of chasing down legends and rumors of the unknown. Something nagged his mind, persistently nestled deep within him. Sometimes it would awake to reach out to him, calling for attention, presenting him chances to grow. He would find himself dreaming of another life, one full of racing hearts and adventure.