I had stopped checking the time two hours ago.

The apartment had gone still. I was lying sideways on the couch in a pair of cotton pants and a threadbare long-sleeved shirt I had owned since before Roman. The overhead lights were off, and I hadn’t bothered to light a candle or even turn on the soft lamp by the window. The only illumination came from the city itself. Pockets of warm yellow from passing cars. A flicker of fluorescent from the restaurant across the street. The soft red of the ...