Never has this road seen a more determined man, and yet it has never seen a bigger coward. Klamath Falls pulses around my head, piercing through from every direction. The rooms all around pound with noise. There was a gunshot earlier this evening. A gunshot.

The room beside mine, to the left in the hall, seems to be filled with chimpanzees, or perhaps drunkards. They played cards long into the night, yelling and accusing and keeping me from falling asleep. Deep in the night I heard an argument begin, same as usual but the arguers were different. One was new. He was German, I know the accent well. Bavarian. He spoke like he was an observer to the game and confronted a man for cheating. I will try to recall the exchange in detail. All of it is important to what follows, I feel.

The man at the table, the one being accused, sounded Texan. Old man. He said he would pay no mind to the Bavarian and advised the rest to do the same. He was calm. He was so calm that I knew there was going to be trouble between them. Hard personalities, both of them. The old man said he was a sheriff once. I think I heard a chair scrape along the floor, he may have stood then. His voice was old and clear when he could get it to work. He said he had no need for cheating at cards in some town in Oregon, and the Bavarian took offense to that. He shot. The Bavarian shot the old man but I didn’t hear a body hit the ground. It may have been my ears ringing, but I think the old man survived, or the Bavarian missed. His bullet came through the wall. I am shot. It is my leg. I am afraid.