USA. A small eating house. Before I could present my purpose, I was asked to declare my allegiance to a location.
"For here or to go, sir?"
This was the Trial of the Setting. In my land, one enters the eating house and it is understood: you are here. To declare otherwise is to imply flight, or perhaps a hidden ambush. Yet, this American asked me to choose. To declare myself for 'here' meant committing to the physical space, to endure whatever fortunes might unfold within its walls. To choose 'to go' was to take the provisions and retreat, to conquer hunger on a battlefield of my own choosing.
I considered the gravity of the decision. "For here," I said, with the weight of generations in my voice. The server, a young woman with a kind smile, merely nodded and punched a button. "No worries, man. It's just a sandwich."
But it was not merely a sandwich. It was a commitment. A man does not choose a 'here' lightly. He chooses a 'here' because he intends to hold that ground. And I will hold this ground until the last crumb has been vanquished.