The world is not run from where he thinks. Not from castle walls, but from countinghouses, not by the call of the bugle but by the click of the abacus, not by the grate and click of the broadsword but by the scrape of the pen.
I find I'm so excited. I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border.I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope.