Marching

Of course, friendship's never been enough by itself, for W. Or it only echoes in a direction it cannot reach. One day, there will be no friends, W. says, only comrades. He dreams of it: comrades, marching together, marching alongside one another, with no need for preliminaries.

What will they march upon? A new Winter Palace? A new Bastille? No, he only sees them marching, says W. They're not heading anywhere in particular.