The night of him looking at the stars was the night that everything changed.
That night as the planets danced overhead, a thought grabbed him and shot right up his nose and into his brain, almost taking his breath away.
Whatever brought him or sent him to this place - that whatever he was going through was unique – perhaps what he was experiencing really meant something. There was a reason for his being
If that was true, then everyone else he knew or met or saw was travelling too – all of them wound up by a key and sent on a path with little decision on their part of what they should take.
If they had all been moulded by a god: from the woman in the bakery, to the the postman, or the kid who always cried, then they all had an angel at their birth – but even if their heart, their existence or even their imagination was an accident of the universe – they were still unique, still special, still a traveller.