Along the mountain slope winding down to the vast valley, the bus stopped at a big town, where a lake ran through. The outside was raining in the gloomy blue. Soon under the instruction of the guide, the passengers disappeared behind the doors of neon streets. In a while I was glancing at the strangers and their dinner behind the hazy windows. But I said I didn’t need bread or cookies here.

In the end, the way led us to the lakeside. It was broad as a sea and long as a river. There was no bridge. My feet touched the sand and water, rough and pure. The drizzle smelled as fresh as the morning mist. Above the water the lamps were all lighted up for themselves. Walking on the dust of light, the night fell.