I stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the hotel bed on which I had scarcely made an impression. Was there a note on the bedside table? It was morning. Months before, I had attended a lecture at which the speaker claimed that all touching, even as it expressed its yearnings, contained what she called an infinite alterity. Infinities subtracted from infinities. We were alone and alone and alone. I let the door shut behind me and walked down the long, carpeted corridor. I made towards the street, towards the confrontation of the day.