She walks ahead of the rest of us, and I understand the mood she's in - restless, unwilling to talk, needing to feel like she's floating free.
Between the chainlink fence and the water is a zone of discarded objects: a pink Disney princess balloon, a bike wheel, green bottles and a soccer ball.
Volcanic colors of sunset over small gray buildings.
An email I expected arrives. Even though I sensed that something like it was coming, it's no less disappointing.
Skyscrapers like silver blades cutting into the night.
Half an hour gets sucked away on a TV show where people make petty, poorly thought out decisions and end their night drunk and brawling.
We walk past the yachts in the marina and marvel at their features, like the hot tubs and lounge chairs. "Which one is yours?" she asks, grinning. I tell her that mine isn't a yacht. It's a leaky rowboat. The amenities include a bucket to bail out water.