In Seattle, and then in Tucson, I looked forward to my daily walks with Richard. It was our chance to unwind, to hash and re-hash the day, to gossip and vent. It kept me refreshed. This is not the case here: Walking here is mostly about anxiety and trying to avoid injury. Sidewalks are used for parking, drivers have little regard for human life, and the city is crawling with people that walk slower than I do. This requires a lot of passing and ducking on my part. Despite the constant trash collection, litter has a foothold almost everywhere. There is also a constant need to look at the ground – dangerous precipices and stairs appear out of nowhere, as do deep holes sans man hole covers. Although you shouldn’t take your eyes off the ground for very long, you do need to pay attention to dangers at eye level. At the very least, you’ll run into an awning. But recently I narrowly avoided gouging my eyes out on the barbed wire wound around a fence near the stairs at the university. There is also the Hazel issue: She’s the object of so much attention, and I feel pressure to lead her out of the way of those people that are scared of her. This all became clear to me when we were walking in a ritzy part of town. I was trying to tell Richard a story and just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep a narrative thread and my story came out scattered and unfocused. I just can’t walk and think at the same time here. The constant need for vigilance makes this impossible.