I am the lonely man, I am the man of loneliness, a loneliness that made me disgusted by myself, disappointed in my thoughts, and horrified by my appearance. It has been a long time since I was in touch with anyone my age, or truthfully, anyone with age, where I recall it was five years ago, in front of the church of St. Petersburg—not to be confused with the city of St. Petersburg—where I met a woman, a beautiful soul, whom I accidentally walked into and caused her to drop all of the cardboard boxes she was carrying, pink and white boxes labeled "Adam's Bakery," there were a dozen of them on the ground, some ruined, two others in the puddle, i was too shy to try and help her from the ground, but when I looked at her face, she wasn't upset, she gave me a faint smile, apologized as if it were her fault, and began gathering the untouched boxes, out of sheer anxiety and regret I began helping her as well. Finally when we gathered all the boxes we wanted, I set the rest of it on top of the ones she was carrying, and I was avoiding eye contact at all costs, but looking at her from the side of my eye, she looked at me smiling again, but this time with a genuine expression, she thanked me a lot and went on her way, it was the first time I ever met someone who treated me that way, someone who smiled when seeing me, someone who wasn't disgusted by my touch, which I believed to be infected by germs everyone seemed to notice except for me, but this time either she didn't seem to care about it, didn't know about it, or I was wrong about it.