Everything’s smaller. I got off the tram and
I’m comparing the landscape to my directions.
A rook. A little girl sticking two pink fingers
in her mouth. You can’t get lost.

Ugly door. Grimy stairs. I counted
the steps; four, so not much grime. I ring.
I stay there, in there. Leave. It’s darker. Not

even any snow. You couldn’t see too well, but
it said the tram would come in
twelve minutes. There’s a book in my pocket,
matches and tobacco. I know nothing.