Autumn really did signal the end of my weekly visits to Hampshire Court, and I quickly reverted to spending all my free time alone in my apartment, with occasional excursions to break up the monotony to fast food restaurants, Pusateri’s, the movies, HMV for CDs and LPs, which had long ago replaced Sam the Record Man, and to Blockbuster, where I rented videos of the movies I somehow missed in the theatre.
The most unfortunate part of my solitude was the amount of time I had to contemplate myself. It was making less and less sense to me my motives for remaining alone. Throughout my twenties and thirties, the simple pleasure of avoiding the complications of a commitment to someone else was enough to sustain me in a sort of near contentment. I say near contentment because there was one thing
