Turn the key, and hold it there, waiting, to see where and when the band will kick in. Good enough, appropriate, are we still near? I would've waved or nodded or something if I wasn't so still I could feel no emotion. Her expression, I couldn't catch, a tracer's procession of proceed-with-that the shutter too slow, the shudder too fast, opposite directions on a foreign street, pass. A cigarette, then I shift gears, leaving, with plans to return another near evening. Westward, then, but the east is leading.