Bloodshot, droopy eyes stared back at me through the cracked, dirty mirror hanging in the bathroom. My fists tightened on the sides of the filthy sink. I stared longingly at the photo of me and my wife, Julia back before it all came tumbling down…before she was diagnosed with early on-set dementia, I drunkenly stumbled into the pigsty I call a living room and looked at the calendar 1/6/1989, oh how the months seemed to fly by. All I wanted was to run, to escape this goddamn nightmare I'm trapped in, run away from the shitty card I was dealt with. I was pathetic; a 40-year-old depressed alcoholic trying his best to drink his damned life away. What I needed were a breath of fresh air and some adventure. I collapsed on my dusty, moth-eaten couch and picked up the weekly newspaper. My cloudy eyes lazily skipped through most of the newspaper until they zoomed in on a job advertisement: a job as a fire lookout for the Shoshone National Forest. I took it.