I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN IT. I REMEMBER DUSK THERE, AT ABOUT THIS TIME OF YEAR: DARKNESS FALLS, DRY AND RUSTLING, OVER THE ROOFTOPS BLUE WITH SMOKE; THE CITY GIVES OFF A DULL RUMBLING SOUND AND THE RIVER SEEMS TO HAVE TURNED BACK IN ITS COURSE. I USED TO WANDER THROUGH THE STREETS, THEN. THEY, TOO, ARE WANDERING, NOW, I KNOW! THEY ARE WANDERING, PRETENDING TO BE IN A HURRY TO GET BACK TO THEIR WEARY HOUSEWIVES AND THEIR STERN HOMES … OH, MY FRIEND: DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE IS, THAT SOLITARY CREATURE, WANDERING IN THE GREAT CITIES …?

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From Albert Camus’s The Fall (1956)