For he is in a past-tense, future-perfect kind of mood. He is in a maybe this, maybe that kind of mood. Approching a forked road, he slows down, checks his undistinguised face in the wing-mirror, and quite indiscriminately chooses a route he's never taken before, a residential street leading to a place called Queen's Park. Go straight past Go!, Archie-boy, he tells himself; collect two hundred and don't for gawd's sake look back.