By walking among any capital’s landmark monuments, he was able to take his mind off himself.  It was an exercise, a trick he’d play on himself.  Not a difficult one when he considered the monolithic scale of national monuments.  Figures so tall, or walls even taller holding up buildings so big, helped him feel puny enough to let go of what he’d hold onto of grandeur in its many guises.  He’d, for instance, make himself actually believe he would do something with such a fervor that he’d then feel no need to do anything about it and, still, expect it to happen.  Or he’d just find himself believing that a woman he barely knew loved him more than he loved her.  When away from monuments, when the collective past was made more distant, the sense of a talent would return to him of the ways he might be able to manipulate and manage an environment in order to leave his name on it.