After the water had boiled and I’d poured my coffee and had taken the mug with me out to the front room, and was standing at the window, looking out at the street, where cars passed not with regularity but only now and then, so that in the interim, between them, I could hear the wind and could see how it was moving in the branches of the trees and in the little leafless hedgerows that grow here and there along the edges of neighboring houses, which in other moments I would’ve found no reason to notice, or observe, so accustomed was I to their presence, I began to remember other people from high school, and of things that had happened to me there, or that I’d caused to happen (or had contributed to the causing of), and found myself, because of the remembering, in a vaguely melancholic mood, which did not surprise me very much, even if the fact that I’d given myself over to such remembering did surprise me somewhat.