BOURNE

We spent the night taking photos, scrawling down captions to put in later when we turned our images into a travelogues, proudly witty on a computer screen. We each had all-day tickets, or something approaching all-day. We'd spent the day on trams feeding them the wrong way into green machines that the locals didn't even seem to use. Maybe they've got microchips, you'd suggested. We'd spent an afternoon walking through the city, the permanent shade unnerving me so much that I let out an audible breath upon reaching sunshine. We found ourselves at the back of the famous markets, which had closed up for the day, leaving only palettes and forklifts playing pack-up pac-man.

Now we wander, postprandial, sort of satisfied, as comfortable as we can be in a city that isn't ours. Above, though, still the moon. Below our feet, more trains, more tracks.