we took to the woods

Those “faceless armies of disposable migrants”: my neighbors and in a few special cases, my friends. I am ashamed to have spent so much of the past year looking out the window — of the apartment, of the car — at thousands of young and weary boys sweating in the dust, and not reaching out further to help, not pushing past security to see the camps in our very backyard. It has been the strangest part of living here: being always surrounded by them, wondering about them, failing completely to bridge the gap. I felt tenderly toward them, and they were so hard to talk to.