These days we are enthralled by a different set of flashing lights, a different tinkling sound, a different kind of determined revolution. We spin each day on a self-built axis of measured risks, our orbits so close but never touching. It is lonely sometimes, knowing that there are intersections that will never be made, but there is pride, too, in the disparity between the paths we choose to take; is it not noble to go our own way? These days we don't think about stopping, signaling for help, telling the man in the hat to pull the lever, please. These days we just want to keep going, turning, until someone from a distance sees our flashing lights, catches a whisper of that tinkling sound on the tail end of an afternoon breeze, and thinks, Something big is about to happen.