Listening to sudden sirens outside, he wondered where they were going, and what sort of emergency prompted the sirens during the night’s darkest trenches. He didn’t know, and would probably never know.
What he knew, he thought, wasn’t much, about anything. He knew a little, pretended to know more, and bullshit about knowing much more. But when reviewing what he knew while staring into the dark hours dedicated to sleeping, he knew he didn’t know much. Didn’t know what was going on with his body, his mate, his house, or politics, nothing really, not even when more was revealed. In fact, he decided, he could probably fit what he knew into the tip of one little finger.
He didn’t know if it would fit into the right or the left better. He assumed they were pretty much the same, but he didn’t know.