I left my apartment and went down the stairwell and out through the vestibule and the front door of the building to the steps that mounted to the sidewalk, and stood there for some time in the snow, not sure which direction I wanted to go, for I had no destination in mind, other than where I was now (or had been until a minute earlier), which was not so much a destination as it was the locale of my return, from I which I needed nothing, or sought nothing in particular, other than the circumstances of rest and necessity of which one is rarely conscious, but which form the purpose of one’s dwelling, and to which I would arrive after an interval of wandering that I had not premeditated, or considered in any detail, for it was late afternoon (almost evening), and I was ready to divest myself of the business and preoccupations of the day, and to find in the randomness of the sights encountered by my vision, and the instincts of my body for exertion and respite, whatever inspiration for thought, reflection, or imaginative fancy, may or may not be there.