Anywhere he was, he took time for beginnings.  The rest of what was to happen was too often quite predictable, like a story already read, and he could then be found to be somewhat inattentive, but, beginnings, they would just come at him out of nowhere — with promises of all of the things.  He had once said out loud that life without beginnings could, for him, only be about already fated, or accidental, ends, and he had for some reason then listened to himself — so that, even now, as he takes his first bite into a slice of cake, he feels fully the promise of a heavenly experience.