Excerpt
CHAPTER 17

Inconsolable; the man shuffled down the gangplank and out of their lives. Around him the bustle of passerby’s seemed almost ghostlike as he made his way off the dock and onto the frontage road. Some turned to gawk. Some whispered to their companions. Some pointed and smirked. Some had arrogant expressions rise up in their features. But he didn’t care. He stood out apart from all those here. He was different. His appearance, dress, and mannerisms were not like theirs and, given this, he would remain just as cold to them as they were to him. He was a solitary man, alone in a sea of vague semblances and arrogant self-centeredness. In the past, on his dozen (or so) visits to SoCal, the culture and people had felt superficial to him. So many of these people were an affront to his rigorous self-disciplines; cheeky superficial characters caught up in scatterbrained pursuits. It seemed now that everything was a distraction to the peace he sought. His heart ached for his home in Morocco. He yearned to eat his savory fare, to hear his traditional music, to embrace his children’s laughter, and to delight in his beloved wife. Despondently he trudged on towards Lindbergh Field. It was taking every ounce of energy to stay focused on what must be done. Nothing could interfere with his efforts. Being reunited with his family was foremost in his heart and mind now. Behind him was an old life, ahead of him was …