“‘A coward. He’ll cower up. You know what a coward is? He’ll run.’ ‘No, that word I don’t know. Francis is no coward. He’ll fight anybody. Listen, you know what I like?’ ‘What do you like?’ ‘Honesty,’ Francis said.”

Here, in a conversation with Rudy, Francis maintains that he is not a coward, and he defines cowardice primarily in terms of unwillingness to fight. As readers witness on multiple occasions, Francis is willing to fight. However, what Francis does not seem to realize or admit—at least early on—is that fear and cowardice can hold powerful sway outside of the merely physical realm. In fact, Francis has spent much of his life running, if not from physical enemies, then from guilt and regret.

“‘It’s okay with me if I don’t have no headstone,’ Francis said to Rudy, ‘just so’s I don’t die alone.’”

Passing through the cemetery, Francis notices that certain graves are much more impressive than others. However, he also recognizes the futility of such monuments, which merely preserve a name. More important to him are the human connections that bring value to his life, and he spends much of the novel investigating the possibility of repairing those connections, once they have been severed, particularly regarding his family.

“And he won’t feed you till you listen to him preach. I watch the old bums sittin’ there and I wonder about them. What are you all doin’, sittin’ through his bullshit? But they’s all tired and old, they’s all drunks. They don’t believe in nothin’. They’s just hungry.”

Francis observes that the people listening to Rev. Chester’s sermon are only doing so to qualify for a warm meal. His experiences throughout the novel reveal that physical wants and needs often must take precedent over spiritual matters, particularly among those who are desperately poor. Reverend Chester’s meals, clothing gifts, and employment tips prove far more meaningful to Francis than anything he says over the pulpit.