I walked home

I walked home from the International Café tonight. On the bridge from the city center to Christianshavn (see also Terabithia) lay a drumbeat, bounced off of so many buildings that the echoes had a rhythm and counterpoint of their own, coming from nowhere and joining lustily with the thud of my boots. On the bridge from Christianshavn to Amager, my footsteps dropped hollow into the canal. I knew that I was of the world – after all, the wind blew through my hair and hummed tunelessly in my ears – but I couldn’t tell if I lived in it, or if I merely lived upon it like a loose grain of sand.

It was the feeling you get when you have smiled at a girl, and spoken a few words of nothing, and watched her vanish liquid into the sea of dancers. Maybe you’ll see her again next week, and maybe you won’t.

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