He could have acheived something in this world were he not so consumed by the ferocious unambition that had plagued his father, an affliction that had prevented his enrollment in a prestigious university and subsequently served as the catalyst in his leaving the one in which he had enrolled. In the mornings he would wake up and think to himself, Today will be a bridge to tomorrow. Let me cross this bridge, and return to sleep. At night he would sit up and wonder what his father was thinking, as he rested alone in his bed. Sometimes, he thought of his grandfather.
He could have gone down to the market and purchased some grapes for a snack, but rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes and thought about the raspberries he used to pick in his grandfather's woods. He was a very smart young man, and therefore could remember the scene very well. Once he pricked a finger on the thorns of the thicket, and the blood that came out was as red as the raspberries. Raspberries, he decided to himself, were very delicious, and worth the risk involved in their harvesting. He then turned over and fell asleep and when he awoke, it was dark outside. Wonderful, he thought, I am more than halfway across this bridge.