Maybe it was right after all, to go for it. I had thought that it was sure to be a drag; every moment spent lamenting the waste of time. And not to mention that I have never liked any of those things which are so regular to the itinerary: The ones with a hubbub of noise, then the awkward calmness, then the main man carries in the golden prize and everyone lends credence to the ethereal, then sometime later, everyone is separated, goes to find a corner to be alone, then still later, everyone comes back, the prize is taken away, and everyone swings back (as if a switch had been flicked) into a splendorous, boisterous mood. Of course, had I stayed for one of those, then the whole thing would have been terrible for me; but as it is, I took off to the quiet night lanes. Every once in a while, an empty bus would saunter past, and I’d wave to the driver to signal to him that I did not wish to board. He’d smile back, as if to show his relief at finding another living soul in the area. So I walked and I walked, to and fro, to the little pond with a graceful statue, past the pillars, out the gates, circling the bus stop, crossing the street, then crossing back, entering the gates, and so on, repeatedly (I’m not sure how long it all lasted). And I loved every moment of it because it gave me such a space to think and reflect as I have never been offered before. Finally, I could clear my head; finally, I was free from the distracting world.