Surrendered his senses, he lost his way. Out the gate of the Pen and Pencil to slalom the sidewalks, Latimer to Locust, spirit and hope beneath the Symphony’s gas lamps and stealthily past the lions which guard the Bellevue’s arch. The night in his face, he failed to find McGillin’s red letters over Drury Street. Failed in fact Drury altogether. Trickling south then by dark capillaries east of Broad, twisting for home, he was startled when the ground gave softly at his step.