‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Do you have anybody to walk you home? This is a dangerous neighbourhood.’

She looked up. ‘This is probably the best, maybe second best, street in the entire city.’

‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully, considerate. ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know where anything is.’

On my journey back I thought of that girl selling her story to the ravenous tabloids, getting a small bit of tawdry cash, taking her friends out for drinks, saying a few words in my honour. In the kitchen I unpacked and divided the tablets into ones I would take now, ones I would take later and ones I would take in a relaxation emergency.

I took the track out of the comedian’s bedroom and examined it. I’d never been alone with it before. The laughter was a solid sound, the mirth of an old-time audience who meant it. I considered ripping its guts out and leaving the entrails on the kitchen table. I wanted to know how that would sit with me. But I didn’t destroy anybody that evening. I turned off the track and slithered around on the couch for a while.

At two AM, the intercom buzzed. I wasn’t sure what I expected. A soft comforting voice on the other end telling me not to be scared? Someone to have an emotional moment with? God himself? ‘Hello,’ I said. I recognised the breathy tones of the psychic immediately. And she told me everything that would happen to me. It wasn’t terrible but it was empty. It was one long flash of emptiness. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Over that intercom, into the early morning, the psychic and I lamented and cried and offered the sincerest condolences to my life.

*

Summer returned and I stood, naked, in front of my air conditioner, feeling expert bursts of air all over my body. I got the air conditioner for free from a guy on the forum who left a rambling message about how he was leaving the city. When I collected it, I pretended to be a regular woman with no connections to the comedian. Whenever I walked into an apartment – no matter the size or shape – I felt sad for all my losses, for everything I couldn’t do.

He had a new girlfriend on the show. It had been a dull season and he needed someone to rub off. I watched her daily, peeking out warily from my place in the cupboard, drool pooling around my mouth, as if all the water wanted to leave my body. They tried to make her wholesome, a fellow professor, but she had certain aspects that couldn’t be contained – her breasts, her lips. I figured she was from Miami or LA or one of those places, had seen a lot of ceilings. I wanted friends so I could imitate her, call her ‘Candy’. Make myself feel good.