Now and then he finds himself wondering out of self-pity: If you could add up all the pills he'd ever taken, what would the total be? How many hours of pain has he lived through? As though life itself wished to impede his progress, he was brought up short again and again. As though the force that prevents him from moving forward to the light stands always at the ready inside his own body. All those hours when he had lost his way, in hesitation and in doubt. How many would there be? How many small white pills?