Every walk has something to see and thoughts to think, but the reality — reality itself — is much different. Vast stretches of it require not seeing, not stopping, not thinking. This is the back way out of the market, about half its distance. I have nothing good to say about it. In fact, most of my walks are through similar things, similar places. It’s the song in my heart, as they say, the things in my head that make it tolerable. There are no art directors here, no plot, beyond coming and going. And yet, despite this, there are a thousand things to see and think. Flowers blooming in odd places. Dogs barking and wining for treats. People, at least the shells of people, saying hello, sending a smile, raising a hand. Each thing and person performing its part, like the mud leading downhill on this walkway. Around the corner it gets better, more diverse, and then sometimes it becomes almost transcendent. The way in and the way out.