as Moe disappears into the back room for a moment.

The dojo is small but looks the part, rugged and worn from years of use. The old man, just as worn looking, had spent years training with and collecting various weapons around the world that now hung on the walls of this miniature martial arts academy. There were never many students training here, just enough to keep the lights on and give Moe enough to have a few beers once a week.

The rugged but well-built sensei emerges from the back room and nods pointedly. A signal that it was time to train. Steve pauses for a moment however, he wants to absorb this memory of his old sensei and remember how things used to be. These little moments he felt were important. Fragments of the past, distractions from reality,