He thinks that when he walks, his own feet propel the earth: that his movements keep the world going round. Literally. Each stride supplies the momentum for another motion forward, the ground shifting backwards beneath him, away into the distance.
Except, when he stops walking.
But then, it's quite possible that the earth doesn't need to move all the time, that in fact, it could probably manage quite well, hanging around, as it were, while he sits in the Cafe Noir, sipping his cappuccino, listening to the idle chittering of the waitress birds.
(from ‘How the World Turns)