He sat in that coffee shop, near the second floor window overlooking a rotunda of trees, as the sun was setting. It was then the middle of summer, and while the shadows began to lengthen on the street below, the warmth of the afternoon still lingered in the air.

He was alone, naturally – this was his place of refuge from the bustle of the universe. The anonymity did him good, and the distance as well, as he looked down on the world below – couples taking their walks, children running after dogs, cars rounding the curve, approaching, leaving, approaching again. There was something hypnotic about it, reassuring almost, and for a moment, everything seemed to be unfolding as it should, in rhythms, in circles, in ups and in downs. He took comfort in this — in this vague yet necessary promise that life processed in cycles and seasons, and that all that was required to get on with living was some patience and perseverance to survive till the next fall.