{#463. You’re in witness relocation when at your job for a grocery store in this faraway place, someone recognizes you} My life isn’t stressful anymore. I don’t have to wonder who I’ll find on my couch at three o’clock in the morning, or check my backseat before getting in my car. I don’t have to thoroughly inspect seals on containers and examine my food before eating out in restaurants. I no longer have to avoid busy intersections or make excuses to always ride alone. I’m not forced to have a backup plan with alternate routes to get from point A to point B these days. What I have is a home in Bear Lake, Idaho, nearly cut off from the world. I work a routine job at the local Stop-n-Sav just to fill some hours in my stretched out days. I could be anyone I wanted to be, but who I wanted to be was a hermit. And the government didn’t mind at all. They were thankful to have someone that wouldn’t cost a bundle and that wouldn’t be a headache. Bear Lake isn’t much of a tourist destination, and certainly wouldn’t be for the colleagues I had in my past life. They’re all the glitzy glam of Vegas or West Palm Beach. Here we have mountains, but not the pristine slopes…