He gets more, determined I guess is better. I can see him get angry though, and his strength seemed to increase as that rage and frustration built. Bu... he never lost control. When the skirmish was over, he was his own goofing and laughing self again. I have been trying to get him to open up, but in most ways, he is a closed book. He never talks about his life before the Night of Madness. No real first name, no last name. Never talks about parents, siblings, lovers, jobs, anything. It’s almost. She looked at him quizzically. ‘I’ll put your order right in, honey. You let me know if you want some more coffee.’ The rest of the meal was a daze to him. He watched her every moment she was in the dining room: as she poured coffee for the men’s group, as she wound paper napkins around sets of silverware and refilled catsup bottles. She ignored him except for furtive glances until his food was ready, then served it with a bright smile. As he ate his breakfast, he looked at his neighbors. More

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