'Some are and some aren't,' he stated with a shrug. 'Like people and their impressions of Americans. Some are as big of an asshole that people assume and others aren't. So I guess the same can go for Canadians. There's always gotta be that one tough guy who's gotta be the stupid punk.'
So was life, he figured. There's always got to be the big goddamn hero, the punk, the victim and just the selfish son of a bitch who thinks their better than everyone else. Somehow he couldn't think of how to place some people. He was definitely the big goddamn hero. He spent his life as the hero, told himself that he was one and in the end, he hoped that it mattered. That what he did was enough to do something good in this world.
Somehow he didn't think things mattered and that things were wasted as easily as they came. He was there when his father died...he had seen and experienced death. He had been to hell and wondered if everything was worth it. The dead seemed to have lived in this place, he was living proof and so was Madison. Maybe his father was somewhere in this town and maybe it was a town of the dead...which meant that Sam had died too. He hoped seriously that he was over thinking this thing a little too much.
'Uh, would they let me pick it up since it's should be under your name?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.