I went for a walk last night, and nothing extraordinary happened. I crossed the bridge, which, because the day had been rainy, wasn’t as crowded as it usually is, and now, though the rain had stopped, the planks on the bridge were slick, so that one’s footing wasn’t as certain as it is when they are dry, and I found myself looking down occasionally, to see where I was stepping, rather than looking only out past the metalwork and the beams and the girders, across the water, toward the buildings of the city whose lights had come on, or that already had been on but that now, because the sky was dark, and there was no natural light against which they were competing, or into which they were merging, were visible.