He walks through the streets of the city, having just arrived, lost, a stranger. Walks across a bridge grayishly illumined, staring up at a lonely lit window. Dog’s nose in the garbage. His wanderings appear aimless in the nameless night, but every fold has its trajectory – woman on another bridge crying. Motorcycle man fuck off. I can’t leave you alone in your loneliness. She can’t pull herself out of the night; she is a lion in it, attached to a rope. Returning from a long journey is never too soon. Voices overheard in the rooming house. Slavs! Desire for a second childhood. Potential romance gives rise to narrativization of past romance. Each harbors own mystery; mystery where ownership established. I love you, I love you: walking. The city’s perpetual nightscape permanently stained by memory, love lost never to be regained, damned nostalgia-dwellers in the shadows of the ruins. Can another be the arranger of one’s lust? He is a man with no problems. White (k)night. Second woman enters as blatant seduction vehicle. Hero needs his dick back. He tears up the letter over the bridge, disperses pieces fluttering below. The function of water. Misty maritime nocturne. Permanency of night’s unfeeling. What happens in the day doesn’t matter. He begins to run away from his own desire. This is what he is reduced to: man ablaze with doubtfire. Seduction a game of hide-and-go-seek. The night is suddenly alive. This makes them more alone than ever. He tore up the letter to assume control over her desire, sidestepping the issue of lack of control over his own. In letting go, laughing with her, he joins with her madness. He tries to tell his story, it gets drowned out by the dancing. They both want to live in dreams, and perhaps this is the only thread that connects them. Dancing, they become bodies once again. Black-haired seductress, on the other hand, can hardly walk, let alone dance. Her best position is leaning up against the wall; wall supports not her body, but her smile. He has left her behind to cry on herself, the one he really wants. Black-hair leads him away, forces him to walk across a slippery slope on the water’s edge. Homeless woman under the bridge. Under the bridge they can fuck. When he doesn’t want to fuck, she blows the rape bugle. Fight. Happenstance. Crazed, she beats the men she ordered to beat him. It’s not her fault: she’s a born loser. Three losers in the night, each chasing the wrong dream. Train whistle sounds, he looks up from washing his wounds to see her standing on the lonely bridge forlorn in the gray cruelty of the night. With all its false resolutions. She moves towards him. The ideal has been lost, compromise approaches. Secret is unveiled, hoping that love will overtake. Never trust anyone, especially if they’re in love. He saves her from her fantasy: this final humiliation. He castigates himself for believing in the veracity of his own. Maybe later she’ll love him. They steal a boat and row on. They will find him, the other, her object, on another bridge, in the snow. The object: rigid, a standing dead man, expressionless. She melts in his sinister embrace, leaving new-old object behind. Churchbells dong and there’s no remorse. Stray dog returns and another night is done.