Karaköy. Closed doors amplify the light, warm the expectant faces. Doors open and the wind washes in, in through the doors, in through an overlooked button. A touch of cool fingertips. The undignified rush begins, and he is swept up in it. Blue sea. Blue sky. White, white light, burning to the eyes, fraying the boundaries of vision. A half finished cigarette. A half finished tea. The journey has slipped through trembling hands unnoticed. Up uncertain steps into an empty train station, shaded at midday. The clatter of heels on the cracked floor warn him. He turns. Before his eyes have adjusted to the abrupt darkness, before her footsteps have risen to the vaulted ceilings, though, she has passed him by out into the gasping air.