Through my livingroom window facing north, I am gazing at a narrow segment of a bustling road running past the Forbury Gardens, St. James’s, and the Reading Gaol. For some reason, the two-way traffic makes no sense to me. The way I reckon this spotless evening among evenings, the cars, motorcycles, trucks, and buses should all be going the same way. Two-way traffic smacks of carelessness, confusion, lack of purpose. The only way I can explain these sentiments is that I have slept for a single hour last night. No complaints about the lack of sleep, though.