When I was about 25, I went camping near Big Sur, in California. It was what we did, as I recall. There was much beer and charcoal involved.
There was a river nearby, where we used to sun ourselves.
And one day, while I was sunning, I saw a small boy, maybe 8 years old, all by himself on the bank of the river. I didn't know where his parents were. He was completely bald.
I went over to him and asked him, "Where is Mummy-daddy?" and he said casually, "Oh, they're over there."
Then I said, "Are you okay?" and he tossed a pebble in the river and said "I have brain cancer."
I wonder whatever happened to that little boy so many years ago. But I still think about him today.