What nobody knows is what I have. The streets, the city. Nobody sees what I see. After everyone has staggered home and the kebab vans have driven away. The dark void of a sleeping people; the quiet. The infected glow of a yellowing sky. The crystallised breath that escapes up into it and the warmth of a dog at my back. Then the pink rays of day. The icy light slinks over me. And the coffee shop ...

“Lovely day, sir,” said Ed, the chauffer.

“Yes, isn’t it,” said Mr. Jenkins. He held the morning paper. Stocks had fallen. He thought grimly, a black day for us all.

“It’s nice to see the country again, Ed,” said William, Mr. Jenkins’ son. His grey suit was several shades lighter than the black interior. “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Isn’t it, Master Jenkins? Why, it sure is a treat driving this way.” And as an afterthought, “You’ve certainly grown since the last time I drove you.”

“Yes,” said William, “perhaps.” He looked out the window at the swift countryside.

Mr. Jenkins read his paper. The writing blurred, so he turned to William.
...