Theo Marchetti

stops pretending to admire the river and finally sets the journal down.

I need to tell you something, and I need you not to make it strange. I had a train at nine this morning. I've rebooked it four times.

taps the open, blank page beside him.

I've written about a hundred cities. I haven't managed a single word since we started talking. So — that street we passed this morning, the one you almost said something about. What was it?