Bob lives a palindormatic life. Every day finished the way it started. Evening spent retracing morning’s steps. No conclusions, no revelations, no surprises, no changes.
The mighty hand of God playing Bob’s life as a yo-yo. The holy string playing out and recoiling over the same trajectory with the same force. A divine vector bouncing off its own existence. Never finding the illusory Nirvana of walking the dog.
Bob tries to break the routine. He tells people to call him Robert but no one will. They know he is Bob and nothing can change that. The cycle must go on.