"They'll size you up and their eyes'll pop. What the hell is the matter with you? You deserve success. You've earned it. Don't you want it?" "No, I don't want it. I just want to be left alone," Cooper shouted. "Leave me alone, for God's sake. I wish to Christ this'd never happened." He flung out of the house. Hot and uncomfortable, Lennox stacked his manuscript neatly, placed it in a manila envelope and went out for a walk to worry about Cooper's misery and his own. The Rock has an emotional as well as physical geography, and Lennox was unconsciously drawn to the neighborhoods that reflected his moods. On this morning he went through his customary cycle from despair to exhilaration never once remembering that he had been through the identical cycle and the identical walk countless times before. He started at low ebb. He was confused and frightened and automatically began to wander back and forth through the cross-town side streets that always reflect the slack tide in men's souls. What was happening to Sam? Why wasn't Sam happy? What was happening to himself? Could he really be receiving the threats? Was he scheduled for violence on Sunday? The side streets were a dismal prelude to disaster. Lennox searched his memory for guilt and enemies. He went all the way back to his small town boyhood and was drawn to Lexington Avenue, the great prototype of every Main Street in America. He could remember nothing and was overcome with sorrow for himself. He was alone ... crucified ... and he was driven south and east to the Bowery, the boulevard of self-pity. There he trudged despondently, identifying himself with the tattered vagrants, with poverty and failure. From sorrow, his mood changed to anger. He was outraged with himself for whining. He was furious with the world for attacking him unfairly. Hostile and contemptuous, he found himself walking up Broadway, glaring at the crowds, declaring war on a world that revealed itself so squalidly from Times Square to Columbus Circle. In his anger he flatly rejected any possibility that he could be the person described in the letters. The ferment within him increased until he was recharged with hope, and the cycle ended in elation. He had nothing to fear. Nothing was falling apart. He would hold everything together ... his delicious, wonderful world. He turned east to Madison Avenue to savor his world. He admired the women, the handsomest of all time; the men, the most successful; the shops, the richest. Fifth Avenue is as rich and beautiful as Madison, but Fifth Avenue is for dreaming. Madison is the bustling culmination of Now. It has no past or future, only the immediate Present. "Existentialist," Lennox said to himself.