He saw his age on the street sign; it pinched him at how advanced a number it was.  The street itself looked faded as he compared it to the low numbered streets he had visited earlier, and yet that fadedness did not deter him from walking a block into it, and more, as he began to see it a place in perpetual transition.  He had seen a moving van on each of the first three blocks he walked; the people were of a variety, young to old, and the stores were cheap.  A vibrant street, he felt, and, with it, permission to step into a store to enjoy himself a debilitatingly nasty delicious ice-cream.