I step away from the storefront like I am stepping away from a life. As if there were finality to it, as if there were meaning that I am imbuing to the moment, in deepness that I act. I am then struck by structure — that is all there is, architecture and me, the street going a distance and ending ambiguously in buildings and alleyways at arbitrary angles forked out of this street. But I know there will be people soon, not wanderers like me, those who have some fixed goal in their onward perambulation. They fascinate me, sometimes, their plain purpose so ineffable to me. Perhaps I will talk to one of them, and wonder if they understand that I am different?
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