...
But I think short guys put more heart into their lives....
Yes, some of them take it too far, become fairly maniacal behind it, but not all. I remember gargantuan lumberjacks standing like little boys in front of 86 — who was not in fact much bigger, if at all, than I am — wanting to be directed, told... for not just their work to be mapped out for them, but their very lives, their loves, their safety, their welfare, their ways through the labyrinths of this span between birth and death.
He'd fled 90210 for Mendo World at sixteen, a spoiled slip of an art prodigy brat, and gotten a job on a logging crew. The rest is history. He'd gained the respect and admiration of everyone in the industry and agencies by the time he was thirty... and well into it by the time I met him. In fact, it took me something like a month into our romance before I realized he wasn't six-foot-something, that never mind most men, most people, were physically bigger than he was.
No shit.
So even if our filthy psychopath spokesmodel with creepy ears is radically taller than Vladimir Putin, he can't fill even one of his shoes. Size matters, but not the one you can gauge with your eyeballs. That's flat, and I know exactly how that comes to be in this world.
In fact, all you every-man-for-himself types, there are legions of men who are constitutionally incapable of doing that, being that. They are good men but it's only brought out by great ones. Psychopaths exploit this. Heroes exalt it.
