Your discomfort means the world. Truly sitting on one's own, alone, preferable to the having to go, out, to come home, again, alone. The moving about from city to home to home -- a let in Montreal, to a room to a sofa a place to sit, leaves with no one or nothing. Out there are jokes, the jokes which you don't see, or understand, to be at all any more what the people, should be listening to. ("Who goes to listen to jokes?," is the comics' thing.) Nothing of it moves.