They called it a bit of a slump. I assume it's because Hellscape of Existential Desolation sounded the teeniest self-indulgent, even for an East Side therapist.  A slump is what they call it when you prefer to walk at night and you don't like company. I've have a glass of wine, only one, let's not be dramatic, and walk until the barest hint of sun told me to give it up. The paths of the lonely in a city are heavily-trod, and my feet fit right in, sliding along between all-night coffee shops and the kind of bar  clear-eyed people pass and say, "That's who I used to be." Someone should tell them it's who they still are in dim light. It's the parks, of course. The parks are where the truly alone go, so our footsteps can be with other footsteps who know better than to ask questions.