Hmm ...

.... The Millions : The Slacker in Modern Fiction: The Flâneur Goes to the Mall. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)

One of the keys to the flâneur and his porous qualities, in my mind, is his idleness: a character engaged in strenuous work has no time to hang out and observe; his insights will have to come from elsewhere. In the 19th century, it wasn’t all that strange to designate your protagonist a “loafer.” But today, this kind of aimlessness strikes an odd chord: it is in and of itself a plot point, a defining characteristic. Flaubert’s Parisian rambler who hangs around cafes, people watching, would today most likely be called a slacker.

I think I can weigh in on this subject with a certain authority. I have been in the habit of strolling about town since my teens. During that time I have held down quite a few jobs. But I nearly always found some time every day to stroll about, and let my mind stroll about as well. The key is to combine relaxation with a kind of free-floating mentation,  what might be  called an open point of view. I certainly don't see things as I did when I when 17, but the way I see things now is certainly connected to the way I saw things then: It is the descendent, as it were, of my point of view then. Being a flâneur involves a good deal more than just strolling about. It helps to be reasonably well-read, to like to stand in front a painting or sculpture until you have seen your fill. Above all, one needs a certain detachment, including a measure of detachment from oneself.