It was past three in the morning when Ethan left the bathhouse and headed home. Halsted Street was now deserted, a cold wind blowing in from the north. The chilly air howled down the empty street, picking up papers and skipping them along the sidewalk. Ethan remembered how lively the street had been just a few hours before, crowded with cars and pedestrians, after he had left Tony’s and come down here, promising himself he would settle for finding a man in one of the bars. He headed, instead, for the shut-off-from-the-world seclusion of the bathhouse, as he knew he would, even as he lingered for only a moment outside a couple of the bars. Ethan heard snatches of music from cars passing by, and more of the same electronic syncopation when one of the club doors would swing open, as if the mu
