Last night, with no real agenda, I went out for a walk.

I passed the security guards at the strip club downstairs. Waved at the kebab joint I occasionally dine at. Waited at the lights instead of jaywalking. Walked far slower than usual.

I came across a part of town I hadn’t seen before. There was a ramen store, an Italian restaurant, a bar playing jazz; three worlds colliding in a single strip of land. The sun was setting still, and basked the brick walls with a golden hue. As I stood, taking in the sight, an old couple with their dog strolled past and the dog stopped to sniff at my feet.

It was not “productive” by any means. There was no audiobook in my ear, I wasn’t studying while walking. But there was a magic about the whole ordeal, a feeling of childish fervor at experiencing something new, right under your doorstep.

I went back home. On the elevator up, I noticed the time: I had been out for 14 minutes.