Last night I made my first walk, from La Guardia Airport to my apartment in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, roughly 15 miles, the streets were mine last night. As I wandered down empty streets and peered into the windows with lights on I saw many people adjusting their air conditioners, turning off their TVs before bed or staring out the window with the final thought of the day. I, however, am not always the one out the window. There is a man who sits outside my street everyday who seems to be in his last days. Whenever I pass him on the street there is this blank deadpan stare in his eyes, like he is somewhere else. For the past several years he always sat in front of the laundromat, hot or cold, rain or shine. But since this spring he has become a wanderer. He has been moving from corner to corner and usually doesnt stay too long in one place before he gets up and sits somewhere new. Perhaps he is getting curious and wild as children do when they first learn to walk, discovering his world all over again.