Like his father and grandfather before him, Horace waited. But, not like them, on a barstool. He had more important things in mind, and he was standing there, with anticipation that made him feel mildly ill.

“Next”

He was next.

He wanted the withdrawal in small bills. Horace planned to take a twenty dollar bill and wrap it around 50 singles, just like the mob guys did in the movies.

“Withdrawal,” he said, along with the amount. As the teller counted it out, he stared. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, he thought. And, his daughter probably wasn’t going to college anyway, so what good is a college fund.

Horace took the money and walked away, a man confident in his purpose, to buy skin mags and fireworks.

Don’t act all surprised that I spent my junior year abroad, in Northern England. That’s in the manual. But here’s the weird thing: in my six months studying in England, even though I consider it a formative part of my life, I was mostly sad and spent a lot of time thinking about Counting Crows lyrics. The weather didn’t agree with me; I was consistently sick. I didn’t understand a word the guy from Manchester said to me. He was all “footie” and drawls. There was the metric system and A4 paper. I missed home, even though I wouldn’t admit it to you, of all people.

So, I read, almost perversely. Mostly American classics: Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Vonnegut, Steinbeck, Salinger, Emerson. It didn’t make me feel better, but it made me feel smart, and less alone.

But I didn’t read any Hemingway. Instead, I got really drunk one night and acted like I imagined Ernest would act, and tried to punch a bull that was really a tree. The girl I was with was impressed, even though she pretended not to be.

1. Part man, part rhinocerous
2. A cowboy that wields the ray gun of justice
3. A surfer who’s also a detective and can read minds
4. Spiderman
5. Telekinetic physicist
6. A college professor, who’s also a ninja