His wall was the highway.
On the other side was his past.
300 full moons ago he had hitched a ride into another town and tried to settled, yet the guilt of those wounds which he had inflicted did little to help. He had to find closure. He remembered her tears more than her screams for him to stop as he turned his back on her and boarded the local bus. She had begged for his love. There was a perverse joy in rejecting it.
On a whim, one day, he crossed that wall.
But she had taken a different highway.