The drunk man looks down at Tuan, who looks up at the man dreamily and with sleepy eyes. I find that I am holding my breath. Not because I think the man is physically dangerous. I’m holding it because I’m scared the drunk man’s sorrow and pain will somehow infect the boy’s spirit. From my own experience, I know that there is something going on deeper than the whiskey. There is some pain he is trying to escape. I don’t want Tuan to see the way that some men—men like me—deal with their despair. Because despair is an insidious and dangerous thing. I know it well.
