The steps were long and winding and it had taken nearly twenty-five minutes to reach the top.
           For what?
           To hear some old man say two words and turn away. Two words!
           No. No way. Nothing doing.
           But the red-haired, leather-skinned man said nothing more, only went back inside and shut the door.
           So what was left to do but walk back down?
           Not even a quarter of the way, he stopped and sat down. He was tired of walking, and damn it, he wasn't going any futher.
           And he didn't, not a step up or down; just sat there, spitting into the wind.
           The clouds gathered, the sky darkened, and still he sat and spat.
           When the rain finally began to fall, he didn't move. And when the drizzle became a downpour and then a torrent, he sat and watched the trickle down the steps become a bigger trickle and then a steady stream, spitting whenever he felt the moment was right.
           He would've continued to sit there had the rush of water not grown strong enough to push him on his way.
           After tumbling his way down the steps and bruising nearly every part of his body, he found himself looking up into the eyes of the old man. The old man cracked a smile and laughed, thrusting his fists high into the air.
           So he kicked out and brought the old man splashing into the mud.
           "Lesson two."