April 23rd

Time passes slowly for me. I revisit my earlier haunts, my old friends and acquaintances. I find a new lover, but it doesn't work. She is distracted, available yet unavailable. We find no solace. I go out walking a lot, the air gets hotter in the city and the streets are crowded with strangers. I feel for the piece of me missing and rub the imaginary wound.

I make excursions to distant places to lose myself in novelty and new aromas. The smell of spices and the aftertaste of wine in my throat, as I awaken in another strange bed. The flavor has slipped away somehow. I find myself repeating, endlessly repeating the rhythms of my life, which have become dry and dull. The rooftops seen from another hotel room. Church bells ring in the distance somewhere. Fields, hills, and towns go by the window. The train takes me back again to the traffic and noise of the old city.

Again, the bright night lights call and my old friends are still there. I shake off the memories and make a phone call. I head once more into the street, the throngs of pleasure-seekers, their faces all made hollow in the glow of street lamps and neon signs. The idle, echoing chatter on the terraces. Mussel shells and sawdust scattered on the barroom floor. The empty eyes of the waiter. The voices rise in volume and I feel myself starting to become invisible in the room. Someone makes a joke and someone else laughs. Drinks are ordered and I smile along with the others.