The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my
own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making noise, and the
in them and behind the lit windows of the building were making noise,
and the river was making noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city
hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it
might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.