An elderly gentleman starts his evening walk down Grace Street, a routine event for him.  However, this evening his walk will not be so routine.  This evening his destination will surprise even him.
 

    Every Sunday evening I go for a walk.  Not a long walk, just down to the end of Grace Street and back.  Two and a half blocks each way.  For three years I have done this, since the death of my wife.  It is more than mere habit; ritual seems a more appropriate word.

    The walk is good for me.  At sixty-eight years of age, I am in fine health; my ticker is topnotch, cholesterol and blood pressure all within normal range.  I sometimes get the impression that my young doctor is offended by a geezer like myself in such fine condition.