Short.

The sentences are short. And concise. As if they were in a hurry. Or not in the mood. He is sad and desperate. With his boy. Poor kid wonders if he is going to die. Maybe the short stories are his fast thoughts. Among many thoughts. That trouble his mind in his already troubled life. They are homeless. “They went back up the hill and made their camp in the dry dirt under the rocks and the man sat with his arms around the boy trying to warm him.” (pg. 9) Now im desperate, just like them. The short sentences make me uncertain, just like them. Like the ideas are cut in the middle, a stop in the journey, an inconvenience. I live in the 21st century, just like them. And I see people like them all the time. They most live a life of short sentences. Of short moments. A series of short moments that make up a lifetime. Scared moments that make the adrenaline influence the thoughts and go faster. Shorter. That make you run along The Road. Run in short fast steps. “Okay.” (pg. 10-11-36-43-52-60-77…)