Your emergency warbles and spurts separate the traffic below, a yellow bloodstream of frustration.  I trace your arteries with my finger on this window. In this city of maximum, there's always more to feel. It was a downpour between buses. She spat the dummy and disappeared in a huff of impatience. Uptown, barging alone, the enraged occasional tourist. Always against the traffic, never wondering why. Escaping from the big city, we race under a river and past the swollen graveyard hills. Undressing, rinsing, resetting. Those uneven streets of day desperation and stark night illumination are already fading, rear-view. From pixel-lit runways the planes throw us pilgrims furiously into the night. Up and out of this place, rising traces of light, prayers ether-bound. YYZ, LHR, CDG, AUK, neat rows of nervous lives displaced, dispersed, distanced.