Who Needs a Dream? Who Needs Ambition?

"Much easier to put papers away than chess pieces," Anatoly murmured amused as he watched Roger scramble around. Once the bed was cleared, he sat down carefully, staring at the floor until Roger returned with the chair.

"I...I don't even know where to start," Anatoly was forced to admit, cursing his inability to vocalize what he was feeling. It wasn't a linguistic issue - speaking in Russian would make no difference at all. He didn't even think he could blame it on the vodka.

"What is wrong with me?" he finally blurted out. "Why is it that no one stays?"