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In the neighborhood when he’s out walking at night after dinner – a constitutional it used be called, I believe – he’s looked at rather strangely. No, he doesn’t have a dog. (used to have one, but that’s not the point.) No, he’s not taking out the garbage. Well, you don’t have to have a dog. Have we come to that? Do we need a purpose to walk? As much as he likes it, maybe it all started with solvitur ambulando, whatever problem you may have, walking will solve it. Or maybe it was agriculture and the sedentary life. Or perhaps even before that when at some point somebody somewhere asked the first “why” of (un)recorded history. The moon looking down in its white splendor probably doesn’t count the faces that look up at it on a night like this. That would give it purpose and we’re told the universe doesn’t have any.