on the planet that was supposed to be his home. Sleepless and wandering the streets of shabby British towns at two, three in the morning, he would find himself at a bus shelter in Stockport, a woebegone shopping mall in Reading, or the empty husks of Camden market in the hours before dawn—and it was at those times, in those places, that he was struck by a vision of human insignificance in all its unbearable pathos.
"supposed to be his home?" aso how does human insignificance square with christianity?
