The writer and other people

--IX--

There was not a single other human being in a radius of a few miles around his hut. It was just him, trees, birds and some unseen animals. There was a time when he was right in the middle of a sea of people and he felt so lonesome. Just the thought of being this far from any means of contact was exhilarating. He had great respect  for his fellows, but there was something that did not allow him to ever connect with them. In any case he had done well in the jungle. And he was not doing much for his kind. It was much better this way, he believed.