As you know, Bob...

[desperance]

We give - of course! - no credence to our dreams, and do not discuss them here: which is just as well, because otherwise we would have to dig out deeply interior reasons why we should be strolling the hilly streets of New York, waiting to go to the airport, passing by a department store called Gerald Tartery and improvising lyrics to the hymn sung by Sean Connery throughout The Man Who Would Be King. [Which turns out to be "The Son of God Goes Forth To War", and no: I am not going to Google the lyrics, because then I would learn them, and then the story would be complete and the world would come to an end. Which would be bad.]