Mist rose over the Limmat and glazed the cobbles of the street. She was glad she was in Zürich. She was always glad she was in Zürich, but this time especially. Maybe no one could escape their troubles, but anyone could get some distance. “Should I take the tram or walk?” she thought, walking from Haupt Banhof towards Bellevue and never getting on a tram. It was false indecision.
She kept walking, thinking, torn between what she had had to do and the way she wanted things to be.
“You don’t have any power over that,” she said to herself. “You tried and tried, but it’s, apparently, not your job.”
“I know,” she whispered to the night air.
“Let it go.”
“You’re not going to say, ‘If it’s meant to be it’s meant to be?'” she said to herself.
“No. That’s just a lot of consolatory bullshit. There’s no ‘meant’. There’s a person in charge of this. It just doesn’t happen to be you.”
“No,” she thought. “It’s not me.”
She found her hotel. It, itself, was pretty strange. She should have known that a hotel named “Ladies Only” would cater to lesbians, but she didn’t think of that until the masseuse, well, never mind. It was a reasonable guess for the masseuse. She’d just thought it would be cool and different. “I really don’t get it,” she thought, and not for the first time. “If the world were not shrouded in euphemism, we’d only have to contend with its intrinsic mystery. We need clear labels. ‘Lesbian Hotel’. ‘Suicidal, Alcoholic Brother whom You Cannot Help’.”