5

The platform stretched endlessly before me, night had fallen, I was already homesick, and no one was waiting for me, anywhere.

I walked for a long time into the bleary light of the Gare Montparnasse, patting all my pockets as I hunted for my fucking key-ring.

I thought I’d burst into tears.

 

The aftereffects, had to be.

Aftereffects. Fatigue.

 

I still couldn’t see anything, these eyes of mine, always losing everything, the eyes of an invalid, my eyes stinging.

I swallowed.

I always swallow.

The famous technique used by divers who have a cold.