Thank you for the coffee, it warms my innards, and the robe, it keeps the chill away.

I have come such a long way to this place and here I am. Do you mind if I just rest for a little while?

Yes, there is so much left to do, but I was so focused on getting here that I scarcely had time to think and reflect, and I am bone weary, and it would be nice to just sit and be here in the moment before — what is it I am here to do?

Ah, that is always the question. Even a befuddled old one will ask, “Why did I come into this room?”

Why am I here? What a very good question. What an appropriate question.

I must be here to do something beyond attempt to propagate the species — although that must be an important task given the urgency of the impulse. 

So, my purpose? What is it I am here to do? 

I seem to be a minstrel of some sort, hence my stringed instruments, and I seem to have an urge to tell stories. Am I a herald? Am I a — what is the word for the guy who shouts, “here ye, hear ye,” and tells the news in a public square? Maybe it is herald.

In any case, thank you for the coffee, and the robe, and the food and shelter. I think it’s best I was on my way.