Years later, I try to write this story of the Journey, even though I've lost contact with the group and I am fairly certain that the League no longer even exists. But I am unable to put together any coherent account of it; my whole life has sunk into despair and disillusionment since the failure of the one thing which was most important to me, and I've even sold the violin with which I once offered music to the group during the journey. Recently, at the advice of a friend, I found Slovko after having failed in my attempt to re-establish communication with him. At first I wasn't even recognized by him when I met him on a park bench, I wrote him a long, impassioned letter of "grievances, remorse and entreaty" and posted it to him that night. The rest is history as they say.
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