Lying on my back on the gravelly rooftop in the night, I sank into my thoughts, trying to pull my mind out of its habitual juggling and wringing of its broad range of concerns. The day had been warm, but in the night it was getting too cool for me in jeans and a windbreaker. It was near Midnight. The Pink Floyd album “Animals” played through the foam pads of my Walkman headphones, like thick syrup pouring into my brain. Sometimes it seems to me as if I’m just being used.