I keep to the light and look through the windows of restaurants and pubs. I climb up the stairs of a theater and see people inside standing around in little groups on a red carpet and talking. There are tall tables some stand around with bowls of sharing food on top—nuts and crisps and dips and olives. I keep walking, past an Italian bistro in which people are eating seafood pasta; in another restaurant, two people have a huge plate of oysters between them; a man and a woman are talking animatedly about something they have on their table—a thick wad of paper that has text on it and notes written in pen—while they share food in a Peruvian restaurant. “Have you tried the scallops?” someone says. “Have you had time to look at the menu?” says another person. Two women, all in black, with instrument cases, are sharing a bottle of wine outside. A waiter comes out with a platter of sushi.

I sit outside a Turkish deli for a moment, feeling dizzy, my breathing fast, an intense pain in my stomach like the organ has tied itself into a knot. The seat is wet, but I don’t really mind. A guy nudges his friend as they walk past. “Hey,” he says to me. “You all right?” He’s holding a can of beer and smirking. I don’t say anything back. I can’t. I nod. The guy looks at his friend and I see them exchange a look, though I can’t tell what it means. “Do you need help getting home?” the guy asks. I suppose I probably look drunk. I run my finger through the water on the table. I shake my head, and then the men leave, the one who did the talking muttering under his breath, “Okay, whatever.” When they’re a few steps away, I start to follow them, their hearts ahead of me, beating like tiny drums. But, then, I turn around and go in a different direction, following another instinct.

I cross back over the river and turn down a dark side road. The darkness is comforting. It feels like something I am wearing rather than something that is in the atmosphere, unconnected to me. It hangs down over my shoulders like a cape and makes me feel peaceful in a way I can’t feel in light. I walk for a while, taking a few turnings until the sound of people dims, not really aware of where I’m going at all. At first, I think I might be heading for Camberwell, toward Anju’s, but it soon becomes clear I’m not. Something keeps me moving forward, nonetheless, down streets I don’t recognize. The rain stops. All I’m left with is the sound of my footsteps.