Love is a blind man’s game. St. Cloud sensed he had a one-way ticket up a self-made Alligator Alley into the jaws of fate. How could a man come so far and not outgrow his stupidity? St. Cloud could no longer outdistance his common sense by flooding a sea of booze over every mindful prick of reality. If beauty is a bluff then Isaac was right about Lila, that after a man reaches a certain age it is difficult to distinguish whether he has fallen in love with a young woman of true beauty, or she appears beautiful simply because she is young. St. Cloud did not know if his heart was being tricked by the fatal attraction of false romantic lights, leading him in desperate pursuit of his own lost youth. Maybe the only thing left he was capable of outrunning at his age was reason. Not much of a victory there, no triumph over the lies he led. St. Cloud was definitely headed up a personal Alligator Alley. There was a fickle feel to it all, a slippery sense he had lost his way. He sensed he had to hang onto his life for dear life.
