On my toes in cheap aqua socks down the steps of a pedestrian tunnel strewn with broken NyQuil bottles and wet sheets, under which the night before, I can only imagine, the cold-sufferer slept and relieved himself mid-dream, as the high plain winds made the paper litter dance, and the vibrations of an entire freeway and railroad overhead rumbled like a sedative the cement on which he lay fetal, and I move like a baby new to walking, through the dark and scary.