It was dark now, so new-moon dark that River and I used our

hands to feel along the bricks. We came back to the main road and its street lamps, we let them guide us past the Chinese food stores, past the Japanese hot pot place, past the rows of houses that all looked elegant in their dilapidation, lights still aglow as other students and their music thumped a faint beat in the background. I could see River’s hands instinctively sound out the rhythm. A few months ago, he told me that everything in life had a heartbeat, even the trees.