There is a gray building with black windows across the street. I often watch these windows, expecting to see a sign of life there. The building does not seem to be deserted, and yet I have been unable to identify a single living creature. I hasten to add that I have not taken into account various plants and domestic animals which I have occasionally seen there. Consequently, either I have lost the ability to recognize people, or they have lost the ability to present themselves to me in a recognizable form. I am presently unable to decide which of the two possibilities is more plausible. I will continue to watch the building, but I doubt that I will ever be capable of proving conclusively either of the two possibilities, unless I finally see someone there. This does not make me sad, however, but it makes me much less comfortable than I considered acceptable just a few years ago. That leads me to the conclusion that my standards of comfort have been declining over time, pari passu with my experience; which means, it must be emphasized, that I have thereby displayed a much greater degree of vitality than I previously believed characteristic of myself. And that makes me almost happy.