an old writer and his words

This should be Paris, he thought,dancing alone in the Tuileries, orEngland, looking down on the Thamesperched atop the London Eye.This was how he imagined it, nottrapped in the madding crowd, everyonefrantically multitasking, searchingfor nirvana or a release from boredom,from the quest for monetary meaningthat had trapped them in a maze withno exit or end point,…