The city darkens and we hate the place, unless we feel what we think, and then we love it. Maybe it’s us, we tell ourselves, maybe we changed and this peninsula only became what it was always going to be; the writing was on the wall and if we didn’t read it, that’s our fault. We take refuge in pleasure. We wander the dunes. We’re not indifferent to the misery at our feet because it adds enchantment to the view.