"Delay is natural to a writer. He is like a surfer—he bides his time. Waits for the perfect wave on which to ride in. He waits for the surge (of emotion? of strength? of courage?) that will carry him along." (E.B. White, The Paris Review Interviews, 1969)
Six miles. To the DOW Chemical plant and back (past EAT, past the George House coffeeshop, past the Crazy Church, and past the asylum).