It was a pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization. It was sometime between dusk and total dark. I am alone, again. It seems to be in the area of West Madison Street in Chicago, amongst the dirty, dark and smelly bars and the rundown hotels and flophouses. Chicago’s Skid Row. I turn in to a somewhat familiar alley, searching for my place. I wander down a narrow alley-like corridor, lined on both sides with coffin-like, open-end structures, housing countless corps-like forms of drunks and derelicts reaching out to touch and grab me. I am looking for my coffin-cubicle and can’t find it. I wander aimlessly.