42Hemmed in by banks of thick clouds, the pale watery moon is a distant orb above the sleeping city. Office blocks tower above the river mouth, shrunken by landfills. The city’s hunger for land has eaten up parts of the river. The placid ribbon rippling darkly between the grey concrete embankments is much narrower now than the broad, meandering, congested, teeming, busy waterway of my childhood when the expanse of blue sky arcing over the river mouth was wide and high. Instead of bumboats and twakows crowding its banks, now it’s the pubs and restaurants that pack the riverfront. Fortunately, due to the lateness of the hour, these establishments are closed. Grateful for the absence of noise, traffic and pedestrians, I walk on. Unwanted memories crowd into my head jostling for attention as I
