I am traveling under the white flag; our army has surrendered, but I carry this reminder to soldiers who might fire first out of instinct, or out of vengeance. That is who we are now; men of war; the bloodstain does not wash away in a day. We are each uncertain how to react around the next bend in the road, to the next sound unseen. Who am I now? What am I now? I am the quiet beast outside your door; my claws are .44 caliber and never retract. I may turn on a spur, and take you down, not out of anger, but out of habit. This is the uncertainty of returning soldiers riding the long roads home.