This is the second part of my short story "Departure," please would you proofread it.

They were so busy and stressful that they had not time to think of the existential condition of the human being. Instead they were inveigled into buying new gadgets, which would already after some months become old and lose their attraction. Once in the past he wanted to be one of them. That was one of his goals, wake up in the morning, eat his breakfast and hurry to job as all others did.

Unfortunately, he never succeeded. Every job he had, turned just into another blow until he understood he was different. Going up early in the morning, working with silent, distant people all day, drinking coffee with them on the coffee breaks and talking about weather, TV soaps and similar trivialities made him only miserable. He could never imagine spending years drudging five days a week and then at weekends drinking himself into stupor as almost all his workmates did.

He felt that that kind of life would make him ill if not even kill him. Finally he ended living on handouts and was ashamed that others had to pay for his living. He thought almost every day about how life played the game with some of the people. They reacted differently; some would give up and compliantly wait for the last punch, while others tried to fight against all odds, believing that a wonder would happen, which would turn their fall into success.

He did not belong in either of these categories, because he had not been destroying his life with alcohol or drugs nor did he had hope to leave his isolation and become part of society again. He was an escapee whose body was still here, but whose soul was running away somewhere to the south. In the winter when everything was white and deep frozen he would take a stroll, trudge through the snow and gaze in the distance imagining that in that direction there was freedom he was so much yearning for.

He asked himself how many kilometres would he manage to walk before becoming tired and plunging into the snow without ever rising again. They would find his body one day and nobody would understand what a strange, lonely man tried to do, where he aimed to walk. He would remain a mystery, never to be solved, and all his thoughts, experiences, hopes and desperations would dissolve with his body into nothingness.