Yesterday had been a rush.

As everyday, was always a rush.

He took fast decisions every day, in the city, but never about himself, at least never outside the confines of his assumed life track.

There had been no accident, no crisis, his work was going ‘well’ within his preset definition.

But as his laser focus banished any hesitation, any question, something had decided to give. Deep in his subconscious, a rebel had been growing, planning a coup, to save him from himself.

everything had seemed different that morning. The air was soft, the light beautiful, and he could feel an electricity through the world around him and through him.

And he had sat on a bench, ignoring the pidgeons, and an analysis of his life flooded through him, a script secretly prepared in the mysteries of his mind.

He had stood up slowly, and walked steadily and purposely to the travel agent.

And he would be here for two months. Two months! And that was just the beginning. He would never go back, to that life, to that city. And for the first time he did not know where he would go, yet he had a sense of settled purpose as never before.

The waves lapped enticingy on the shore, but even they could wait. He put on Rachmaninoff, closed his eyes, and smiled.