From now on, a man named Richard “has time—plain and simple” (3). He is a published author who has always had a full speaking schedule. He makes coffee and looks out the window at a lake. There is time to think, and “the thinking is what he is, and at the same time it’s the machine that governs him” (4).

Years earlier, a lover was unfaithful to him. He wrote about her behavior for months, nearly 100 pages about the contributing factors: “The best cure for love—as Ovid knew centuries ago—is work” (4). Richard imagines an owl tearing apart the pages of his books with its beak.

A man died swimming in the lake, but his body has still not been found. When people visit, Richard does not tell them about the man’s accident, but it is hard for him not to think about because he can see the lake from most of his windows. Richard had been packing up his office at the University the day the man drowned. He had retired in August and the University faculty had held a reception for him: “He can’t even comprehend that his departure is just part of everyday life for others—only for him is it an ending” (7).