You can read minds but it 's too noisy in the city . You move to the mountains to learn what silence was . Then you heard something deep beneath the ground . [ WP ]

It wasn ’ t even particularly discernable. It seems like it ’ d be so advantageous, but it really isn ’ t. It ’ s not like you can even control it or anything. For the most part it sounds like a crowded room. But that isn ’ t really all that uncommon is it? 
 
 I ’ ve told a select few people. They see it for its grandiose qualities. You know that question? What would you rather have, the ability to fly or the ability to be invisible? It ’ s become that essentially. A party quirk; an icebreaker. But really for the most part it ’ s entirely unbearable. 
 
 What are the benefits really? I ’ ve thought about this a lot lately. I suppose I could become a fuckin fantastic interrogator. That ’ s something that ’ s hard to learn, to keep your secrets from yourself. Really though, the one thing I ’ ve learned more than anything, most people ’ s general internal monologue is a giant amalgamation of incoherent rambling and senseless mumbling. Did you kill that guy? I could ask that. Most likely I ’ d really only hear a few coherent words and more or less the starts and ends of a plethora of other half thoughts. 
 I thought getting away could fix it. The only real escape is isolation. My safe haven was the woods. What could be the worst thing that happens? I ’ d hear the thoughts of animals? What would that even entail? So I did it. I packed up. I drove west. 
 
 So there ’ s this guy named Charles Preuss. He was a cartographer for the expeditions led by John C. Fremont. He was part of one of the first expeditions into California. He was the guy that literally created the map. Lake Tahoe, Carson Pass. Led by Fremont, drawn by Preuss. What I love about Preuss though, was his relentless pessimism. Here we are, met with these charismatic adventurers. Lewis and Clark, Fremont, hell even Marco Polo, Columbus. All these guys. Probably really shitty people in real life, but when it comes to discovery, they became legends. And here we have old Charles Preuss, hating every moment of it. Hell, he even killed himself at the age of 50, just cause he couldn ’ t take one more goddamn expedition. 
 
 What did I want? I wanted to live with goddamn Charles Preuss. Some people may go out west searching for the remains and fortune of D.B. cooper. No. All I wanted was to search the west for the soul, the real, the remains of an adventurer, dragged into a life he didn ’ t want, but for the good of advancement dealt with it. Well until he didn ’ t. 
 
 If Charles Preuss can kill himself, goddamnit I can go nomadic and listen to the wind, the thoughts of owls, and search for the soul and remnants of a kindred spirit. 

