He trailered his madness on an old hay wagon and traded a Padre two pigs and four chickens for an old paint to pull it proper. He set off on a pencil sketch of a day to try and find a poultice to take the sting out of his rope burn existence and to look for a woman with lithe fingers and patchy hair who would appreciate his wit.
On a trail through the Cumberland Gap he came upon a spring and drank heavily from a cup made from the skin of a Cork Bark Fir. His madness oozed from beneath the tarp and crept up behind him as he stared at his reflection in the water. It spoke to him of wasted energy and lost souls and a need to stay put, the path to happiness was fraught with tigers. He looked and listened and gave his journey nary another thought, content in his role of the universal fool unspooling.