”Hello, in there," he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. "What's up tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?"
The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a
hawk in mid-country. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the
center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river
beds, the streets, for company. The Pedestrian, p. 1
At times, when he's walking, where does Leonard Mead imagine himself to be?