Last night I walked through the drizzle along quiet Parisian streets. An old woman in a bathrobe reached out of a ground floor window holding a live little cage, a mousetrap, which she handed to a young man in exchange for an identical trap, but empty. Alongside me a friend spoke about black holes, and binary stars, which orbit one another in a recognizable pattern, such that if you see a single star moving similarly, you know it’s orbiting a dead star. Celestial longing. I don’t entirely know why, but I thought of the Lonely Place. ⠀