This city you live in, terrified, is now empty. Friends fly in and out—for love, sometimes for nothing. And this evening, a mist so fine your lips are slick as you walk from his apartment to his and then back, into yourself. There is a place everyone leaves for. Someone you slept with once said that to you while he ran his hands over your face. And there is a place for those still here, watching the last ships circle around the receding island.