You are occasionally so desperate and lonely, that your own bare feet, which stick out obliquely somewhere above your blurred nose and beneath the tangled eyebrows, appear blind, lifeless, and yellow, like some other feet belonging to an expiring man or woman, who is simultaneously experiencing the same detachment, and thinking perhaps of you—the stranger among strangers. Those intersubjective moments are marked by a drastic reduction of your otherwise rich perception to a divine field of vision, to pure contemplation, and to involuntary compassion. Farewell, old feet!