The Imperfect's Journal: 1

May 15th, 2066

I can't believe it, but I stole from someone. Not from a store, but from a person. I just nicked his wallet out of his coat pocket. The man's story isn't something I know, so I've been coming up with the worst scenarios as a way of making myself feel as guilty as possible.

I have thoughts like: what if he's an imperfect like me, and now he has no way to get to Canada to escape this hell? Or: what if his family is in another country and he wanted to get to them before the war really took off?

I can't dwell on it.

Before the man's credit card was canceled, I was able to fill up my tank and buy a bunch of snacks and energy drinks. I put everything into my backpack with the canned food I've been saving for an emergency, then drove further northward.

Now, I'm about thirty miles south of the border. Seems I might have to walk it. There are roadblocks, tanks, soldiers, and police officers everywhere. Most folks are turning around and leaving. Lots of u-turns on the highway.

As for me, I'm still determined. I've just parked my car on the side of a dirt road. I'm going to start walking here in a bit. Hopefully, my limp doesn't rear its ugly head until I'm actually in Canada.

I've got my blanket rolled up and slid into the straps of my backpack, which is quite heavy at the moment. I'll lock the car and take the keys with me, just in case I have to come back.

As a note to my future self: the keys are in the topmost compartment of my backpack, hidden under some trash from food I've eaten.