Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

He heads for the rising sun arcing up from the east, the cradle of humanity, affirming another day. He passes the remnants of an all nighter, spilling out onto the riverside, guys and girls swigging from a brandy bottle, watching the miracle of a new day.
He had left the house at 7, emerging into the onset of a cold northern european winter.
He was seeking that exercise nirvana, when physical effort transcends the clamour of your mind, your heart, your soul.
His weapon of choice was the usual one.
He did n't have that deep purple track - 'smoke on the water', but he should have had, to accompany him on his riverside journey, following an ancient trail, mist burning off the water's surface as the sun gains in power.
He passes derelict industrials hinting at a despised past, reflecting his own internal decay like some fast isotope from Oppenheimer's own hand.
His legs finally fall into that magical rhythm where the miles peel away beneath the rubber .
His shadow follows him, a waving absolute in a world of change. Here is the vapour trail of issues that followed that man:
-- They have fallen out of love with one another
-- She has fallen in love with someone else
-- He is in the grip of a cold blooded MLC

Can he renew himself like the planners had with the lonely docks and storehouses all around him?
Can he cure the urban blight of his marriage?
Can he revive the failing edifice he had so painstakingly built up?

Truth is - He did n't want to . . .

He rode back, passing windows, hundreds of them, thinking of the lives being played out behind each one. He wanted to play out his life, not behind a window or in front of a mirror but on a stage.