seeking the eye

Just the other day I was traveling a short distance on foot through snow to reach my car when I felt that somewhere in my close vicinity an eye was peeled in my direction.  The peeled eye was blazing out at me, and all I had to do was locate it.  It was obvious to me that the peeled eye was my invitation into a plot; that if I could locate it, my day (and life) would take off, convert itself into movie terms, become readable as a journey with a point, a definite destination.  I might not show up at work, but my day, if I found the eye, was sure to be rewarding, a worthy candidate for the first day of the rest of my life, a red-letter day.  I sought madly in the snow (falling thickly now) for the legibility-granting eye, peered up at the rows of windows in a high-rise apartment building over my head, and the windows of an office-building across the street.  I scanned parked cars for the eye, but no bodies were discernible peering out behind snowed-over glass.  It was 6:42 a.m. on a Tuesday morning and I was apparently alone on this pre-dawn stretch of city-street.  Nobody was watching.  I began to clear my windshield of snow with yesterday's newspaper.