On his thirty first birthday Collins realised that he hadn’t spoken to another human being in over a year.

He hadn’t been avoiding it. Not exactly. It was just that since leaving the city he had been happy enough living alone in the mountains. He’d built a shack, shot some deer, grown some weed. A good life. A peaceful life. But on his thirty first birthday, Collins realised, not life enough.

The next day he went down to the town where he bought his ammunition and supplies. There was a bar there, and he went inside to find some company. At first it was awkward. He was out of the habit of being sociable and after he had ordered his drink he couldn’t really think of anything else to say. Then he ordered another, and another. Then some more.

Eventually, when he was on his sixth whiskey, the alcohol in his bloodstream reached some sort of critical mass and he hesitantly began to join in the conversation of the other guys clustered around the bar.

They were mainly loggers and teamsters, and they were bored enough of each others’ company to welcome Collins into their circle. They were soon exchanging opinions and sharing jokes and, even though not a single one would have called it that, gossiping like old women.

Then they started telling stories and that was when the trouble began. Maybe it was because by then Collins had finished a whole bottle of scotch. Maybe it was because of something deeper. Whatever the reason, once he started talking he realised that he couldn’t stop.

At first the guys didn’t believe him, but as he went on they did. Yes they did. How could they not when he cried and laughed and whispered in a way that no liar ever could?

When Collins had finished the barkeeper broke the silence by closing up early. A couple of the guys slapped Collins on the back as they left. One offered him a gun. Most of them just scuttled away, furtive looks hidden beneath baseball caps and loggers’ hard hats.

The next morning Collins woke at dawn and, ignoring his hangover, packed everything that he could into his truck. Then he set fire to his shack, got behind the wheel and started running again.