Spring falls back into desiccated brown leaves hanging from wary boughs. Having survived several storms, an intoxication comes over the man who walks long and aimlessly through the streets. With each step, the walk takes on greater momentum; ever weaker grow the temptations of shops, of bistros, of smiling women, ever more irresistible the magnetism of the next street corner, of a distant mass of foliage, of a street name. Then through a narrow window shadows slide across the table: a long cross from the window's sash, a circle from a coffee cup's lid, and my wavering spectral hands.

Leaving for an appointment, i enter the elevator. Before the door can close, a towheaded boy in his early teens walks in, but remains undecidedly standing in the doorway, so that the door remains open. "Make up your mind," i say; and he decides to leave. i notice that he left a day pack, much like the one i often carry, which i toss out just before the door closes.
The elevator slides down 12 stories, taking a long time to reach the ground floor.

Then i realize it won't stop, but continue down, to where? Having no choice, i resign myself to be taken wherever it wants to go. Finally, brakes shriek, and i come to a gentle halt. The door opens. i walk out...

i am not in the lobby of my building but outside a squat and domed structure.

Confused and amused, i can see the city in the distance, to which i orient myself for the long walk home.

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