The early-hour morning was shrouded in silence, so pure and heavy that one breathed slowly, cautiously, so as not to interfere with the serious business of waking - a gradual reluctant dawn.
The taxi driver warmed to me after we drove past the train station where there were no buses, telling me a little of his travels some forty years ago before he left his homeland and never went back. All the while, bubbles of amber streetlamps drift past, softened by haze, suspended like half-fallen stars.