A man stands in a darkened room in New Orleans, looking out through a window, seeing the past. There's a body on the bed behind him; wind pecks at the window, traffic sounds drift aimlessly in. The man thinks that if he doesn't speak, doesn't think about what happened, somehow things will be alright again. He thinks about his own life, about the other's, about how the two of them came to be here.<BR>Lew Griffin is alone...or almost so. His relationship with Deborah is falling apart; his son, David, has disappeared again, leaving a note that sounds final. His friend Don Walsh, who is leaving the police department, is shot interrupting a robbery. And Lew is directionless: He hasn't written anything in years; he no longer teaches...there's nothing to fill his days. Even the attempt to discover the source of threatening letters to a friend leaves him feeling rootless and lost.