All of which made my mind begin to wander, so that as I walked home, and rode the elevator in our building up to the floor on which was our apartment, I thought how strange reality was, how it manifested as a kind of living fabric, in which the interactions of human beings, among other things, determined both its present and its future. And how both the things you did and the things you didn’t do changed the appearance of that fabric. Which was in a constant state of indeterminacy and flux. Except, of course, during those intervals of time that are so insanely short that the human nervous system cannot measure them, so that they may as well have no duration at all. Like the moment that one captures with a photograph. Where an actual instant seems to have been plucked out of the fabric of reality, and frozen.