James stayed in the town for another two days, but he did not come to see me again.
He sat at the harbor for an entire afternoon, watching fishing boats come and go, taking in the texture of the life I had been living these past three years.
He bought a ticket home. It was the early hours of the morning when he landed back in that city. He didn't go home; instead, he drove to the eastern outskirts.
The overpass was still there. The makeshift partitioned shacks under the bridge had been demolished long ago. What was left now was an empty plot, fenced off by construction barriers and completely overgrown with weeds.
James parked his car on the side of the road and walked in.
Eight years ago, there had been a row of corrugated tin shacks here; the one at the very end was ours.
It was on
