I want to take in every detail, but when my stomach grumbles, I realize all I’ve eaten today is an Auntie Anne’s pretzel with plasticky—delicious—yellow cheese product dip. The one time on the flight that I managed to truly sleep was also the time food was being served. I need to eat something substantial. More than that, I want to. I’ve been living off of poached salmon and undressed broccolini for longer than I can remember, only sometimes allowing myself to have something like salted cucumber as a little treat.

I want something fried, I want to dip it in something fatty, and I want to drink something bloaty. I’ll work it off when I get home. I know Devon said to lose more weight, but … no. If the show might get canceled, it probably will. Hollywood is getting more and more fickle as time goes on. And if they really need me to lose the weight that badly, I’m sure they can get their hands on a few syringes of Ozempic. Though the thought makes me feel weird.

My phone, as it turns out, is dead. I’d been watching the old Hayley Mills Freaky Friday on it in the cab and must have drained the battery. I look through my carry-on and find my loose debit card, but not my charger.

Well, I looked at Google Maps before coming, and I know I’m only a few minutes’ walk from the center of town. When I looked it up at the airport, I actually found that I remember some cursory knowledge of the village layout from when Aimee and I pored over the map, memorizing the whole area. Not that it’s that hard. It’s pretty much one strip of businesses that have been there for ages and then a circle of houses around it. It hasn’t changed much in the last decade. Unlike most of the world. Unlike me.

I leave my suitcases behind, make sure I lock the door and have the key, and bring my phone with me even though it’s dead.

There’s almost always someone at a restaurant with a charger.

I keep up a quick pace on the walk, but feel a little dreamy as I go, and I keep stopping to stare up at the sky. There really are millions of twinkling stars up there, and it’s so clear that I feel like I can see them all. The sky is a velvety indigo with a dense dappling, and a moon that seems too big and bright to be believed.

I am tempted to take a picture but know that it’ll look how the moon looks in every layman’s photo—like a tiny, uninteresting, usually blurry sphere. I also resist because I feel that this trip should be far more about disconnecting.