I got caught up in those thoughts for a while—as Longfellow says, "thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts"—and decided to go for a walk and I felt good as the city swam by, the sky shining white like a dirty pearl. But I was exceedingly awkward all night. Twice I tried to shake someone's hand and bumped weirdly into it. I was like that with everyone, self-consciously playing music, making a mistake, noticing it, and then dwelling on it, curiously rather than unpleasantly, and then making another mistake because of it, and so on. But I didn't feel bad about it, just distant.