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March 2, 2003
The wry, malnourished Irishman finally fell asleep. Louis tiptoed across the dorm room, removed the Irishman's wallet from his jeans, pocketed about 200 Euro and left the hostel like a raccoon fleeing an overturned trashcan. He had enough scratch to get himself on the morning train, and to hit a few bars before sunrise. For now, the marathon vacation continued uncontested. Louis could soak up more of this world. Of course, Louis couldn't keep this going forever. He only feared death because he ached for all the things he might never do. He sought the places he might never see.