Re Joyce part 2

So tea almost done, Sun has come to mid-day grey the rain or snow of this evening prepares itself. He's thinking about his our walking Eccles Street, Dublin on his own; now here so far away in so many ways he is able to read Ulysses because like Joyce knew Dublin in the minute little ways of endless walking, sometimes to work, sometimes look for work, sometimes for the pure joy of nowhere to go a smoke along the Liffey, a lunch of the best Irish stew in Ireland, a mad rummage among the old books and even though centuries separate their Dublin's neither would not at all recognize the others. Upstairs in the land of opportunity watch the New England traffic make its way still several feet of snow banked around the green. Tea almost gone another yoga stretch... The times he'd gladly walk the hills for miles just to get to the village pub roll a smoke while Ita  pours a proper pint and maybe a wee Jameson for warmth to ease the wait. Is there ever enough time to be home?