Jerry is a big man, with square features and muscles that look like they have been carved more than chiseled. Looking at him, one gets the impression that he would have been more comfortable living in the world of Sin City than something so mundane as real life. One also supposes that might be why he has spent the past eighteen years practicing Muay Thai kick-boxing, one of the more brutal martial arts I've ever seen.
I am a slight, soft figure in this room, aside from a few other obviously new students, the place is full of major and minor giants, crew-cut men who all seem used to being the biggest man in the room, and therefore don't often have a lot to say to each other.
I make a poke at light conversation with Jerry, mentioning that I've recently turned thirty, that I was kind of stupid in my twenties. I used to want to travel. He bites that one. "Travel? What for? The only thing you'll ever find is yourself. Seems like a waste of time." He goes back to his post, leaning out the window in silence.
He hasn't convinced me that I wouldn't like to see more of the world, but I'm convinced there's a bit more to this than I first thought. There is truth to what he said. At least for me, all I've ever found is myself. So I'll stay awhile, maybe get a little stronger before I find something else to do.