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Days passed and I found myself more and more content to stay put. Oh, I wasn't happy and doubts crept in, but I found comfort in the fact that there were so many people here, that the majority, the great majority of them believed as my new-found friend -- that it will all work out. That there's no need to become a fanatic, that there's no need to run.

I found myself becoming more and more like them. I would no longer talk about running because of their laughter, but instead I would nod in agreement at their claims and laugh and even occasionally ridicule the idea of running. I would sleep in later and later and eat more and drink more and I began to take pleasure in these things. I hardly even thought about running and I didn't see any runners.

Then one day, right after lunch, I saw him. The old man. Well, at least I thought it was the old man. Why, he must have gone by in the early morning and passed me while I was still sleeping. He was already to the mountains. He wasn't even tempted to stop.

I knew I must see him. I had to. For too long I had put off my journey and listened to those who questioned that which I had the answers to.

I didn't take time to gather any of the trinkets and gadgets I had collected during my stay and left the Church of Good Intentions.

After all, I still had my ticket, safe and secure in my hand and that was all that mattered now. I literally ran toward the mountains. Not as a runner, but as a follower.

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