Egon crossed his eyes. The great war was just about over. Some of the burned crippled ones were coming back. Some managed to return earlier and were now okay again, spending time with their leathery dreams. Others were not even sure there was a great deal of a difference between dreams and meaning.
He looked at the table and knew that a jug that might even sometimes appear broken, can still be a better carrier of wine than one that is whole and yet does not have a handle. There were some more issues, of course, but they would need to wait a bit. He felt tired and hungry and sick and his eyes really hurt a great deal. Not much longer, not much longer...