You will find him curled on your doorstep, reeking of days soaking in gin and sadness. His daughter in Daly City keeps a picture of him in fatigue in a shoebox at the bottom of her walk-in closet. Occasionally she will call Paolo, a man she keeps on retainer. His answer is always, "No, no word yet." She thinks California is a good place, always sunny. Where else would he go? She does not know that he is addicted to seasons, that he wants the winter to take him one day, as the jungle was not able to all those years ago.