Title: Sun and Sleep
Summary: Toby snoozing on a table pondering life the universe and everything
All he can see is the blurred sleeve of an old moth eaten sweater. Lying on the picnic table stomach down and face buried in folded arms. Spinoza rests beneath his head, book permanently bent open to page 103. A day old Times are trapped beneath his bag more blaring headlines about the war.
The war. It really was cold, and not for the reasons the experts gave. But for the little reasons. The subtle changes, the way you stop trusting people, the way the government spins the propaganda. Suddenly patriotism is a dirty word. As is loyalty and faith and motherland.
He had no motherland and didn’t care to have one. Hungary held no memories worth remembering and Austria had been a stepping-stone. A stepping-stone on to what? Greater things? No, definitely not greater things. Bill would have laughed at him, said he was getting philosophical. Lacon would have smiled indulgently and shook his head. And George would have looked at him, as only George can. A piercing intense look and said nothing leaving him more confused than before.
The sun warmed his back chasing away all thoughts of the war, of the chill that had been seeping slowly into his bones. No, the sun and sleep chased them away for the time being.