Maybe he was unwinding from his day of of doubt. Maybe he was re-thinking his pursuit. Whatever it was, his heart hurt and he knew he was stressing about silly things. Life. What is it but a playground with birds and trash cans. What is life but randomness and chance, where ignorant middle-class bystanders talk of such ridiculous things as “Luck” and “Karma,” with totally serious expressions on their faces. A queen could fall in the mud, and a hobo could steal a piece of meat… it means nothing. It says nothing about either of them. What makes them different? Chaos. Neurons. And psychological inertia, or lack thereof. They are both the victims of unseen agendas of spiritual forces. What is life but a platform for spiritual warfare. What is life other than a chess board for greater spiritual beings? Traps for fools, I say. And if we stress about the randomness and meaningless placement of the pieces, we will find ourselves trapped.