Eventually, what’s real comes home. The noise and anger stops; the senseless rage with which we fill our lives gives way to stillness. We guide our days using a compass of unreality, but live to see truth was where we already were, all along. The best gang membership can promise is a gang funeral; one real friend gives a reason for living. Even knowing this, we live for the security of the herd, a herd that gladly feeds us to wolves if we begin straggling. Groups are bigger than individuals, but bigger is not better. In fact, bigger is largely indifferent. Real connections, even tenuous ones, are more precious than group membership. Because groups don’t want you — they want your allegiance, your money, your soul.